


Sweet Dream/Beautiful Nightmare

by Ruby_JW



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_JW/pseuds/Ruby_JW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after The Turnabout Intruder, First Officer Spock finds himself unsettled and concerned about the dreams he has been having that feature his Captain. His concern turns to horror as he begins to realize the magnitude of the situation he has found himself in... at war with his two halves, facing the stubborness of James T. Kirk and the ferocity of McCoy's mother hen nature, meditation won't be enough to get Spock out of this one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unbecoming of a Vulcan

_This is only my second voyage into writing for this fandom, so bear with me- let me know what you like and what you don‘t.  
By all means, make yourself comfortable. This is going to get interesting, and I mean in a ‘you might want to turn some fans on, sweetheart’ sort of way.  
Paramount owns them, but we get to have all the fun with them, don’t we?  
No betas, no holds barred, just me, letting my mind off the leash to run as free range as it damn well pleases.  
You’ve been warned.  
So darlings, if you can’t take the heat… take your hands off the Vulcan. ;)  
For those of you who can… lets get warmed up, shall we?_  
  
\---  
  
  
 **Sweet Dream, Beautiful Nightmare**  
  
  
 _What kind of dream is this?_  
  
He felt the intense hazel gaze caressing his back, as surely as he would the stroke of fingertips along it.  
Had he always been able to feel his Captain’s eyes on him?  
Was it always this strong a sensation, burning trails down his shoulders, his thighs…  
Perhaps it was paranoia.   
Perhaps it was because, for the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone in this.  
He felt like Jim knew.  
Inwardly, he allowed himself a sigh.  
Outwardly, he merely continued his work, pretending that his mind wasn’t clearly travelling at warp speed toward utter insanity.  
He had to get himself together. _Focus_. Control.  
To dwell on something as minimal and meaningless as a dream would be a waste of the talented abilities of his mind.  
To allow his thoughts on the matter to continue to dominate his mind would be… illogical.  
Nonetheless, he found himself unexpectedly incapable, eager to let himself get carried away just this one time.   
_Just once._  
His human half was screaming for freedom, and for one of the few fleeting times in his life, he genuinely wanted to let that happen. Spock of Vulcan would never allow himself to indulge in such a nonsensical desire, to make his move on not only his superior officer, but his best male friend.  
And yet the part of Spock who belonged to the ever-peculiar planet earth…  
This was **ridiculous**.  
Unbecoming of a Vulcan.  
But so enticing to a human, so fond of games, of uncertainties, of taking chances.  
 _This is beyond chance, S‘chn T‘gai Spock._  
This was the mother of all gambles.  
Spock had never been a gambling man…  
 _There is no gamble to logic. There is only certainty, and confidence, safety within that certainty…/Logic has never made you feel as unbearably good as you did last night._  
Almost against his will, his human half unexpectedly threw him into harsh and vibrant memories of the night before, and his Vulcan side scrambled madly in an effort to grab the reigns back.  
 _Not on the bridge!/Too late, too late…_  
  
  
  
“Oh God, Spock… _please_ …”  
  
He felt the tightness of a strong hold in his soft raven hair, midnight silk against gold fingers.   
“Ohh…Am I… ungh! Spock, m’I hurting- ah!” Jim’s hips moved involuntarily now, quick and sharp in his need for release. Spock paused from his diligent work on Kirk’s shaft, licking already wet lips that were flushed emerald and swollen.  
  
“Illogical, Jim.” He nipped at a hipbone as he spoke. “You are aware that this is indeed a figment of imagination, henceforth…”  
  
“Fucking _logic_ …” the last word had become near unintelligible. It pinched off into a gasp of pleasure, as Spock unexpectedly plunged back down over his length. The Vulcan could feel the vibration of Jim’s guttural moan travel along his spine. It made a direct jolt through his nerves that centered with a burning intensity on his own cock.  
Surely, he’d never been so aroused in his life.  
The mere prospect of Jim wanting him like this, giving himself so freely… his passionate, uncontrolled human reactions were almost enough to undo the prim Vulcan.  
But he needed more, craved more, oh, so much more…  
He wanted to know the sensation of the human’s cool mouth on him, coaxing him into completion.  
He desired to fill him completely and be filled, to give and take in the primal ritual of intense pleasure.  
To know Jim by body and mind, to claim him as his own.  
A true Vulcan never lived that would execute a plan of action half heartedly.  
He wanted to make Kirk come so hard, he wept…  
  
  
  
With a miniscule jerk, Spock realized he was still on the bridge, still on duty.   
_Still on duty!  
_ His panel had become a blur to his vision as, appallingly, he’d allowed himself to become so distracted that he had indulged in what the humans called ‘daydreaming‘.  
Worst of all, he could now truly feel just how tight the Starfleet regulation uniform pants were, pulled taut and noticeably so.  
He felt a small spark of anger and frustration, as the hotness of his cheeks and ear tips indicated he was in fact blushing. He ducked his head toward his console, his Vulcan half scolding and disciplining his lapse of control like a firm, shamed parent.   
_Control yourself! You are Vulcan!  
_ Once control was shattered for a true Vulcan, it was near impossible to re-attain without meditation.  
For a half Vulcan…  
Thank Surak that Starfleet’s regulation pants were black, because even _that_ mightn’t be enough to hide what was going on down there thanks to his lapse.  
At least nobody had noticed his uncharacteristic distraction… all bridge crew was responding and addressing him as if nothing had changed, as if all was as it should be, as it was before.  
Except for one.  
Because now that he’d decided it was a must to sit down (or someone would probably start wondering why the only person on board who didn’t so much as allow a smile was sporting a _considerable_ erection), he felt them again.  
 _Those eyes…  
 **Don’t**. Control._  
 _Yes…  
Do not…/You desire to think upon it!/ **You will not** cater to this.  
_ It was too late.  
It was shattered, he was stranded here on the bridge, compromised, and only furthering it. He was offering himself no solace from the fire, and in part, he did not wish to stop…  
Could not at this point if he tried.  
  
  
  
His tongue whirled madly around the head before diving back down to the root, a ferocious pattern that had Jim’s typically solid shoulders shuddering with ecstasy.  
  
“Ngghh… no, Spock, I-ah! I can’t… mmmh!” The fingers clasped and unclasped in his hair. Spock slammed the hips in his grip against the bulkhead behind them, holding them in place for the sheer torture as he mercilessly worked his tongue. It darted and flickered over the sensitive head, seeking more of the unique flavour as Kirk neared the edge of searing, shattering pleasure. “I can’t, _mmm_ God, can’t… it’s too _much_ , can’t…” His hips tried to move vainly, but Spock’s grip was iron, and he threw his head back hard enough to thump the wall behind him, a strangled cry of erotic frustration ripping from his lips. He was panting now, gasping as he felt the severe rolls of ecstasy, like ominous, inescapable waves… once, twice, three times they rolled in his abdomen and down through his thighs, until they whirled savagely under the talented tongue of his lover.   
Kirk was reckless now, mad with the sensations, his head tossing as sweat beads plastered the lone golden curl to his forehead. His gasps came out in sobs as he tried uselessly to thrust violently, as he so desperately wished to do so.  
The things Spock were doing to him would surely make him come until he blacked out.  
  
“No stop, I can’t…oh _Jesus_ , Spock, I can’t bear it, I’m… _oh_ , I‘m-ah, going to…” The rest faded into unintelligible sobs and cries. The Vulcan, sensing the warning tremors of orgasm under his sensitive hands, finally released his captor, and allowed him to thrust madly into the scalding confines of his mouth. The movements grew more frantic, erratic, then it was a ferocious jerk, a cry… “ah, Spock… _Spock_ …” He was coming with a fury, and now Spock’s steady grip was not holding him back but holding him up as his Captain was swept senseless by the shock of his orgasm. Spock swallowed the flood greedily, tonguing possessively for just a taste more, so _addictive_ …  
  
  
  
As if their minds were jolted by the same memory, Spock’s head snapped over his shoulder to find hazel eyes, burning with a fierce underlying intensity, blazing hotly into his own dark gaze.   
_Jim knows. Surely, Jim knows…_  
He could not bring himself to break their eye contact. He could only hope that the rest of the bridge crew was too occupied to notice the tension.  
Spock heard it in his mind, as loudly as a resounding cry, though they’d been whispered with such delicate gentleness. The last words Jim had uttered to him within dream- the one and only thing about the experience that had shaken him, and had him thinking about it since he woke up that morning.  
When becoming acutely aware that he was waking up, not necessarily glad to do so, he’d released his grip on Jim’s waist. The golden man before him had sunk down to the floor until he was face to face with Spock…  
  
  
  
Unlike any other dreams regarding his Captain that Spock could remember, Jim was staring him straight in the eye. With his breathing still laboured, Kirk reached his hand out to caress a sharp cheekbone.  
  
“Spock…” The whisper ghosted across his face, and those eyes, they pinned him like a willing slave. “Not yet…” Then the hazel smiled brightly, a lazy grin coming to the well known face. “I still have to pay _my_ dues, don’t I?” A wink, and it was the first time that Spock experienced the sensation of surprise during a dream.  
Wait…  
There was something off here, something strange about all this.  
Humor. Jim had just used _humor_ … fascinating, as Spock’s capacity for humor was so limited and uncertain, whether he was conscious or otherwise. Jim, on the other… hand…  
He would most certainly be able to think much clearer about this if Jim wasn’t tenderly grazing his nape and collarbone with his knuckles.  
No, it did not… could not add up. No, this couldn’t… this was a _dream_ …he was not feeling this, because this _was_ _not_ Jim…most illogical…  
Their surroundings dimmed, blurred, and it became apparent to Spock that it was time to leave this place…  
 _No! Not yet!_  
He could smell the spice of his quarters growing stronger, the place in which he was slumbering. The last thing he felt was the desperate grip of Jim’s hands on his shoulders, in a vain attempt to hold the Vulcan there with him.  
His eyes were huge and fearful, pleading…  
 _Those eyes.  
_  
“Spock, wait… _Please_ , don’t leave me…”  
  
  
  
Torn back to reality by Scotty hailing the Captain through the comm. on his armrest, Spock realized he’d been holding his breath, and let it gust from him quietly.  
It became apparent to him that a weight remained there as he exhaled. A consuming heaviness settled over his insides as he returned to the here and now of Bridge duty. He became coldly aware of a fact, with a stab of abhorring distaste from his Vulcan half, that he was experiencing… intense loneliness, the ache of being alone in mind and in body… of wanting to be back there with Jim. To finish what they’d started, and yet never ever done at all.   
_It was a dream… control your emotions or they will be your downfall. It was a dream, nothing more…  
It was nothing more. Or was it?_  
He felt that illogical human inclination, the desire to be touched, held, comforted in the wake of an unsettling experience.  
 _So alone…_   
  
“…understood, Scotty. Kirk out.”   
Spock’s eyes drifted back to his muse, and as if he’d begun flailing his arms, it caught Jim’s attention immediately. Somehow, Kirk felt his eyes resting on him.  
There was a heat there that wasn’t always acknowledged, as their eyes met for one of the many times that shift. An addictive warmth that was difficult to reel back from. Their eyes kissed, an intimacy that was unspoken resting heavily on the air between them. There was an abrupt deja-vu of the night before, the way Jim had held his gaze and smiled at him, willing him to remain there where they could be free to touch and explore…  
The Captain drew in a long breath through his nose, holding it inside for a moment as he managed to break their gaze with great difficulty. He shifted in his Captain’s chair, casually tossing a leg over the other.  
Spock had a feeling he knew the significance of this simple action.  
  
“Mr. Sulu, ahead warp factor 3.”   
A strange sensation travelled from the back of Spock’s neck, crawling its way down to the very root of his spine.  
A purely human, emotional shiver.  
The first he’d had in years.  
Forcing his mind back to his duties, he allowed himself one last sparing thought before he completely lost himself in his work.  
Their chess game scheduled for this evening was going to be… interesting.  
 _Interesting…now there's an understatement._  
Without allowing himself the luxury of pondering on why that particular voice in his head had been positively brimming with Jim‘s essence, he began long range scanning.  
His Vulcan control had finally won the battle (but not the war), and clamped heavily over his emotional half for the remainder of his shift.  
\---  
  
 _Well, then! Let me mark this as the first time I’d want to have a front row seat to a chess game._  
 _So, it begins._  
 _Thoughts? I’ll update, if interest inclines me to do so._  
 _Until then…_  
  
<3Ruby  
  
Lyrics: Beyonce - Sweet Dreams


	2. "When We're Alone, I'm Jim".

_Welcome back, ladies and gents. As you might have figured out by now, this is mostly going to be coming from Spock's point of view. I find it a greater challenge to write from his alien perspective, while watching a human.  
A very, very attractive human.  
...  
I mean have you seen that Captain's green wrap in action?  
Damn._  
  
\---  
  
  
“Mr. Spock,” the Captain said haltingly, watching the Vulcan carefully as he was executing his next move. Spock waited mentally, but his body carried out the act of continuing the game without hesitation.   
A throat gently clearing.  
  
 _You will not smile, nor will you indicate that you wish to do so._  
  
“Spock…” This is what caused the 1st Officer to pause mid move, and his eyes instantly sought out the clearly unsettled form before him. He could tell just by the tone of Kirk’s voice, he wanted his attention.  
All of Spock’s attention.  
If he wasn’t experiencing a taste of nervousness himself, Spock might have struggled with the urge to smile.  
Secretly, he enjoyed that peculiar craving that humans had, that need for attention.  
How they longed to meet eyes and let it linger; to captivate their audience.  
  
“Something you require, Captain?”  
  
A huffing sigh.  
  
“Jim, Spock. When we’re alone, I’m Jim. You _know_ this by now.”  
  
 **Captain**. It was such a dirty word to Jim, behind closed doors.  
It was _not_ hard to tell. Jim now scowled moodily down at his hands, his face near expressionless aside from the furrowed brow and pouting lips…  
Any other Vulcan would by horrified by this tidal wave of emotion across the table from him.  
This particular Vulcan was quite adapted to the mood swings by now.  
Oh, how Spock longed to laugh at him just _once_.  
But he knew once he tried it out, he’d probably have trouble leaving it alone.  
 _You are getting carried away.  
_ What was he _thinking_?  
 _So embarrassingly expressive. So Jim./You will not allow this enjoyment of your Captain to go further. Even now you threaten to physically express it. Vulcans would not, do **not** laugh...  
_ Jim did not know this.   
But sometimes it was… ( _illogically, there is no logical reason to find it_ -) enjoyable for Spock, to simply call him Captain off duty _on_ _purpose_.  
He knew it rattled Jim, and for that, Spock was apologetic.  
But, in defence, his reactions were always so terribly amusing…  
 _Jim is so often offended by propriety and rank between us. He objects to the lack of intimacy…  
_ That entertained and warmed Spock so greatly (and quite against his will, may it be noted). He found himself so pleased that he’d been forced to lie to himself earlier, as the urge to express a smile grew almost overwhelmingly unconquerable.  
  
“I know it, Jim.”   
  
The warmth in Spock’s deep tenor voice wiped Jim’s expression clean slate, encouraged his eyes to raise curiously.  
The edges of Spock’s lips were quirking, and it made Jim break into an all out grin.  
He knew.  
Although the corners of Spock’s mouth were barely moving, Jim knew he was grinning on the inside.   
Spock had been teasing him.  
  
 _So foolish, how the human’s emotional outbursts effect you. Then you may as well have returned his emotional gesture./But that was not so. I did not lose control of myself. For I am still a Vulcan._  
  
“May I inquire the current status of your emotions?”  
Oddly, the Captain smirked, and gave a short spurt of a sigh.  
  
“I love it when you talk robot.” Before Spock had a chance to recover from that devastatingly illogical comment, it was followed up by “Good question, Mr. Spock. I’m… actually not quite sure _what_ I feel.” Two raven eyebrows arched out of sight beneath razor straight bangs.  
 _Love it when you talk robot. Not quite sure what I feel.  
_ Spock sighed deeply within the confines of his own mind, deciding to discard this information instead of trying to figure out what it meant. He resigned himself before he could even get started.   
Because humans had an unfortunate approach to answering questions… they ran circles around them, and rarely actually answered them promptly or honestly the first time.  
As a Vulcan, he found this frustrating. As a human, he couldn’t contain the curiosity it aroused in him- how they made you chase for answers!  
Jim, he’d decided long ago, was the greatest challenge of all.  
Every night he had to remind himself to cease ( _CEASE_!) from applying the word ‘logic’ to James T. Kirk.   
It might actually push any civilized Vulcan toward utter madness.  
  
“As always, your answer is most illogical, Jim.”  
  
Laughter.  
 _Now he’s laughing._  
  
“I try.”  
  
The range and unpredictability of Jim’s emotions was sometimes startling… and in turn, exciting.  
It was impossible for Spock to gauge how he might react to something next.  
Impossible.  
(Abruptly, Spock recalled the Good Doctor scowling on the opposite side of Jim as they headed for the turbo lift doors. He dramatically- and rather irritably- tossed a hand in Spock‘s general direction, Jim‘s laughter filling the compact hallway and the space between the two combatants. “Jim, do me a favour and find me one God damn thing in the galaxy this pointy eared bastard doesn’t have the answer to!”)  
…Amused, Spock took a quiet, private pleasure in the fact that there was something he did not have the answer to, and Dr. McCoy was unaware of it.  
It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a moment to bask in the inner joy of this.  
He had kept a small mental list of them absently, ever since the day Bones had uttered those words.  
His Vulcan half hated this list, because it was a constant encouragement for emotional indulgence.  
…It was time to make an entry on that list.  
Spock did not have the answer to the question “what will Jim do next?”  
 _This is the foolishness that living amongst humans encourages you to do.  
/I have long since accepted that as an inevitable side effect.  
_Still, it was unnecessary for the Good Doctor to be made aware of it.  
He didn’t need any more ammo.  
  
“Checkmate.”  
  
Charcoal eyes snapped to attention on the chess board, then suspiciously narrowed ever so minutely at the smug form opposite him. Jim sat back from the board, slouching lazily in his chair, and took a moment to grin like an idiot, bathing in the glory. Spock had never wanted to roll his eyes so badly in his life.  
 _That action is a nonsensical desire/But it is quite gratifying.  
_  
“What is it, Spock?” Still smiling, Jim’s arms unfolded, unconsciously sliding into a more welcoming position. Spock clamped down on a well of surprise.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“You know it, I know it, your game was off tonight. Lets have it.”  
  
“You have won your share of matches in the past, Jim.”  
  
“Granted. Not like **this**.” The human gestured dramatically at the board. “Spock, Come _on_.”   
  
“Precisely where are we going?”  
  
“Stop that.” Jim pointed, eyebrows shooting up as he cast a warning look across the table. “You’re not going to Vulcan your way out of this one.”  
  
Both slanted brows disappeared.  
Jim grinned, indulging in the triumph of earning a reaction.  
  
“Proceed.” Spock submitted, beginning to re-set the pawns dutifully.  
When his eyes found Jim’s again, they were tinted with nervousness. The tiniest hand movement in Jim’s laps attracted his gaze. He caught the smallest clasping of the hands, a brief anxious embrace. They relaxed when his eyes fell upon them, but Spock knew what it meant.  
His back grew stiff, an involuntary reaction to Jim‘s body language.  
Jim wanted to wring his hands. Whatever he was about to bring to the table, it was going to be heavy.  
  
“Spock, I… believe, there’s something you and I have to discuss.”  
 _He noticed. I was distracted on the bridge, and Jim has noticed._  
The strained expression on the Captain’s face was alluring, almost vulnerable. It was more than troubling. It was both beautiful, and terrifying.  
 _What if he orders me on Shore Leave?/You will cease this foolish, illogical speculation…  
_ Fear of this conversation, coupled with his Vulcan half attempting to beat that fear into submission, had Spock at war with himself. He feigned ignorance, reaching for a pawn.  
 _It is not desperation. It is… an attempt to prevent Kirk from gaining the upper hand in this game as he’s provided a distraction by speaking, he has done this before/I am positive that this is exactly what the humans like to classify as ‘desperation’-_  
No matter.   
Kirk’s fingers connected with his, long before the pawn did.  
They stopped him mid air, and when he showed no protest, the gold fingers relaxed, and found a resting spot on the pale hand.  
It was the briefest of touches, yet an act as simple as resting fingertips lightly on the back of his hand was enough to cause the Vulcan to shiver.  
His control had been shattered all day, and he had been given no grace period for meditation.  
Through their touch, he received a glimpse of Jim’s emotions.  
Worry. Turmoil. Was that a hint of self-consciousness? Uncertainty, stress…  
  
“Spock, this is urgent-”  
  
“Bridge to Captain. Come in please.”  
  
Huge hazel eyes widened in disbelief, and Jim’s hand snapped back, coming to rest near his mouth.   
  
“Captain Kirk, this is the bridge. Please respond.”  
  
Kirk groaned, and Spock watched with a myriad of feelings as Jim’s forehead came to rest on the chess table in a blatant display of exasperation. "Why now?"  
He reluctantly moved, an his irritation was evident when he reached for the Com and smacked the button to respond heavily.   
“This is Kirk, what is it Lieutenant.”  
  
“The bridge requires your immediate attention, Captain. There appears to be an unauthorized alien ship approaching... as of yet, no response on hailing frequencies-”  
  
“On my way.”   
  
Both Captain and First Officer were on their feet, slipping into their roles easily like a favourite pair of jeans. Side by side they turned for the doors, Jim’s fists clenched at his sides, Spock’s hands folded gently behind him.   
As they approached the exit to Jim’s quarters, for a fleeting moment, Spock was stabbed by a foreign emotion.  
It was an overwhelming want, mingled with sadness- a need to touch.  
Quickly he glanced toward Jim, and if those eyes and what they held hadn't been so distracting, Spock might have completely missed it. The discreet withdrawal of Jim's hand, which had hovered briefly in the space between them.  
He had just barely been a witness to it, but it was enough.  
It was Jim he was feeling, that presence in his mind.  
He so wanted to touch Spock, held back- could not.   
Spock was numb with bewilderment, feeling the presence of Kirk's emotions in himself.  
Without warning, they unleashed emotions within him that he did not usually allow himself to indulge in.  
He craved the touch that Kirk had retracted.  
 _You must put a stop to this emotionalism and control yourself at once. There is no time for such an indulgence/No time..._  
His human half mourned with Jim.  
 _No time._  
There was an intensity, a moment of pause as they observed each other in a blend of remorse and befuddlement. Hazed grasped ebony, and a very human sigh filled the quiet room. The doors slid open, and they made the familiar walk to the turbolift that they could very well walk backwards in their sleep if they wished, in perfection unsion.  
He felt the coolness of Jim's upper arm against his as they stood together in the lift, pressed close together out of habit as opposed to limited space.  
Spock struggled with regret and curiosity, a disappointment in Jim’s interruption.  
The worst of them was a sadness at the knowledge that Jim was unhappy, and there was nothing he could do to merit that right now.  
How he held such contempt for anything that gave his Captain reason to frown in that unfamiliar way, so strange on his typically cheerful face.  
He, too, so wished to touch.  
Would not.  
 _Jim, my Jim. It is regrettable how the times never side with us. Have patience. There may be time later, if we remain clever enough to ensure that luxury for ourselves. A promise of later is all the more reason to excel in our duties now…  
_ And most alarming of all happenings that evening, Kirk’s face seemed to relax, and he met eyes with his Vulcan friend.  
He was half smiling, ever so slightly.  
His eyes positively glittered with unspoken appreciation.  
As if he had heard Spock’s very thoughts.  
Their eyes held, in a burning combination of thrill and shock.  
The turbo lift doors opened to reveal the bridge, and any trace of the turmoil either man was experiencing slid out of the way with it.  
As they were faced with their stations, Kirk and Spock tucked away into a safe place for a breather.  
Now, there was only a Captain and his First Officer.  
  
“Mr. Sulu, Report.”  
  
  
\---  
  
 _Still have the pot on simmer... I love these characters, and I want to treat them right. Take 'em out for a nice seafood dinner, get the tab, hold the door... we'll get this baby boiling soon._


	3. The Shade of Humiliation

_I had a writing spurt.  
So sue me. (Or love me. ...not like that. Get your hand out of my pants. Dinner first.)   
I had a hankering for a little OT3, and a slice of good old Southern doctor.  
Maybe a little pointy eared bastard for dessert..._  
  
\---  
 _Sweet Dream..._  
  
Spock narrowed his eyes minutely at himself, peering at the reflection in the mirror of his designated bathing room. He curtly gripped the bottom of his top and straightened his dress uniform _(‘fussily!’/Mother, I am Vulcan. We do not ‘fuss’, especially in regards to our physical appearance… as humans are so fond of doing./‘Well, you and your father certainly spend enough time in the morning combing those bangs. I’ve never seen a pair of men primp so-’_ )  
He felt something.  
A presence...  
 _ **Jim?**_  
  
“Mr. Spock, I believe that comb is more overworked than the two of us combined.” Spock instantly felt a thrill run through him, both from the illogic of the comment and the warmth of the presence behind him. He caught the reflection of Jim lounging in his bathroom door, arms folded, looking stunning in his Captain’s formal dress. Secretly, Spock took a moment to admire the sight- the briefest of glances.   
  
“Greetings, Jim.” He turned slightly, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “I trust the meeting transpired easily?”  
  
“Almost too easy, not that I‘m complaining. Very pleasant creatures to speak with…”  
  
“A welcome encounter, in contrast to our numerous previous attempts to make first contact with alien life. Have you discovered anything new, regarding our guests this evening?”  
  
Dark eyes rested on the mellow form in the doorway, invigorated with curiosity. Jim’s previous smirk now blossomed into a full blown grin of entertainment. Having just settled the miniscule details with the Ambassador of the unknown race- now known to him as the Impudeits- Spock would be the first person waiting in line to know what unravelled in his absence.  
His First Officer had been insatiably curious, from the moment the aliens had extended a hand of greeting, and accepted an invitation to come aboard.  
Spock, in the face of encountering an entirely new race, could barely contain his interest.  
He was, true to the word, fascinated- ever the scientist.  
  
“Well, nothing outside of what we already know, to be honest. They’re a peaceful species, open- _damn_ this curl.” Kirk suddenly muttered distractedly, as he unfolded his arms and welcomed himself in. He approached the mirror, and tried adjusting the lone unruly curl atop his forehead. His brow furrowed, as though he were dealing with a disobedient child. “I don’t know… _why_ I bother… to try, and...trick myself into thinking I’ve got any sort of control over this…” he leered, then huffed resignedly through his teeth.  
Spock watched this episode pan out in front of him, feeling quite helpless.   
How would you go about telling your commanding officer that ‘the curl’ was one of those many things the made up his offensively good looks?  
Safe to assume, that just might not go over very smoothly.  
Jim reluctantly released the stubborn curl, allowing it to fall back into its usual place. “Anyway, it’s a welcome switch if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we encountered a foreign species that didn’t want to barge on in and dominate us-”  
  
The com in Spock’s room beeped noisily, and McCoy’s gruff voice barged on in and dominated the bathroom.  
  
“Spock… Spock, is Jim there? Christ…” A tussling combined with hissed curses could be heard, and the two at the mirror exchanged exasperated, amused glances. Kirk rolled his eyes with a grin, then moved out of the room to see to his moody Chief Medical Officer.  
  
“Yes, Doctor, what is it. Enjoying your formal wear this evening? I know you’re always… waiting, on the edge of your seat for a reason to bust it out-”  
  
“Would you get the hell in here, and help me sort out these damn jewels they call badges and this top button? My God man, you might as well just clamp a pair of hands around my throat and pronounce me asphyxiated…”  
  
“ On my way, Bones. Keep breathing, I’ll try to get there before you black out. No promises.”  
  
“Thanks, Jim. You’re a real top of the line asshole, you know that?”  
  
“It’s hard to forget something you keep reminding me of. Kirk out.”  
  
“Yeah, McCoy out. Probably for good, by the time _you_ get here.”  
  
Jim released the button on the com, laughing both heartily good naturedly at the sourness of his Southern friend.  
  
“You get all that, Spock?”  
  
“To claim that it is difficult to ignore Dr. McCoy’s colourful ranting would be a gross understatement, Jim. I assure you, I rarely have trouble hearing him on any part of this vessel.”  
  
“That makes two of us. Ohh, it’s not _all_ bad. I kind of like having him around. It’s like having a mom aboard…a mom who drinks and curses, anyway. I should go see to him before he swears himself to death.”  
  
“Very well, if you must insist upon collecting him. I have prepared no method of escape anyway.”  
  
At that comment, Jim’s head snapped to attention at the prim Vulcan, who’s dark eyes were cackling. Jim barked out a laugh of pleasure and surprise, as Spock wasn’t prone to using humor. It was an indication of the Vulcan’s uncharacteristically high spirits, in light of a new discovery waiting to happen.   
_Spock’s excited._  
Kirk enjoyed seeing him so happy, regardless of the fact that he was one of the few who was actually aware of it.  
There weren’t many who could distinguish the mild differences between a happy Spock and an indifferent Spock.  
  
“I’ll go fetch him… I might need a couple of minutes to revive him, but I’ll be back.” Spock watched the reflection of Jim head for the exit through the open entry to the bathroom, still discreetly enjoying the dressy attire. As if Jim needed anything else to compliment his ridiculous good looks. The Captain paused and glanced back, as Spock ran the comb through his hair once more for good measure. It made the Captain grin brightly, his eyes brimming with an unnamed warm feeling.  
  
“Spock… you look great. Cut it out.”  
  
Before the stunned Vulcan had a chance to recover from the compliment and form a rebuttal, the doors to his quarters swished open and re-sealed shut.  
Still feeling warmed in the wake of the words, Spock let his mind wander while he was busy lying to himself, insisting the warmth was not a direct result of him blushing. (The green tinting his ear tips and cheekbones was a clear indication otherwise.) He took a moment for himself to indulge- to draw upon his flawless memory, and conjure up the enticing image from earlier.  
Jim poised like a lazy cat, lounging with a mischievous grin accenting his golden features, wearing his formal Captain’s attire…   
He looked so devastatingly handsome, donning that command dress.  
There was no logical reason for it.   
But Spock discovered that Jim, dressed in his formal uniform, inhabited his secret fantasies the _second_ most.  
His personal favourite, of course, was still the Captain’s green wrap.   
_That neckline is positively unjust in its appeal./Truly. It really is a distracting piece of attire, for regulation._  
Jim was the only Captain in the fleet that held a fondness for that particular variation of Captain’s attire. Most other Captain’s found it rather flamboyant, and due to this, felt it made them appear less masculine, less powerful, less intimidating.  
This was the exact reason Jim chose it, amongst many.  
Spock had taken notice that the Captain often folded up and took more of the green shirt than his standard gold, whilst packing. He came to realize that although the design wasn’t generally smiled upon as professional looking, Jim was drawn to its uniqueness- a quality that humans illogically sought out constantly.  
  
  
  
 _“Our duty is to seek out new life, Spock. To make them feel that we share a common ground, a common purpose. It is my duty as a Starfleet Captain to first extend the olive branch, as opposed to attempt to demonstrate my superiority. As the Captain of this vessel, I want to appear approachable, not intimidating.”  
This was only the beginning of Kirk’s elaborate reasoning behind his affection for the green wrap, when Spock worked up the nerve to approach him about it.  
  
“And, you have drawn this wholly elaborate conclusion from an issue as simple as a choice of attire. How eloquently human, Jim.”  
  
“If you weren’t Vulcan I’d swear you were teasing me, Spock.”   
  
“I do not tease, Captain. I am, as you've just stated, Vulcan.”  
  
“Sure, sure. You never lie either, do you.”  
  
“I do not.” Kirk’s beam was dazzling, and it took Spock a few seconds to recover from it. “…however, I am overtly curious. If you wish to appear more casual around foreign life forms, would it not be deemed easier for you to simply forego a symbol of your command? Your black undershirt, for example?”   
  
Kirk had delivered him one of his most winning half grins, well aware that Spock was teasing him now, and gestured to himself. “Well that one’s a bit obvious. Do I look like a modest man to you, Mr. Spock?” Obediently giving Jim a once over, Spock found himself instantly regretting doing so. He was now quite flustered, observing the way the lime green fabric plunged down and clung to Jim’s delightful hidden musculature, he had… quite, forgotten what he was supposed to be saying.  
  
“I…believe, I do not understand.” Dark eyes mournfully pulled from the Captain’s eye-pleasing form to meet his playful gaze. Jim gave a dismissive swat with his hand in the air, and moved to fiddle with items in Spock’s room as he talked, feigning indifference.  
  
“Oh, please. Why do you think I’m the only Captain in the fleet who wears this design on the bridge? They can try to pull it off like me. But they know better.”   
The Captain paused his tinkering to take in the reaction to his comment. At the sight of Spock’s eyes practically becoming saucers in his dead pan face, Jim’s mouth quivered with the threat of laughter. Instead of giving in, he ploughed on, casually playing with a stick of incense on one of Spock’s table tops.   
  
“Well? I think it’s, dare I say it, logical. Just because I want to appear friendly doesn’t mean I have to ugly up.”   
  
“Jim…” Spock blinked for a moment, again, struggling for a sensible reply in the face of this tidal wave of illogic. He actually granted himself the tiniest of outward sighs, and Kirk watched all this in amusement, his face bearing mock naivety. “Without intent of insult to your person… your reasoning, is an extreme diversion to what many would deem logical.”  
  
“That so? Huh.” Jim seemed rather pleased about that response, and his shrug was nonchalant. “Sorry, I tried. You asked, I answered.”   
He turned to the Vulcan positively smirking now, hazel eyes laughing madly as he stood with his fists on his hips. “And, I stand by my statement. Take a look, Mr. Spock.” A raised chin. “Drink it in... I look damn good in it. And, I'll hear nothing more about it.”  
  
Jim had then managed to execute an abrupt walk through the exit of the room, exuding pride and seriousness. But his laughter soon boomed through the corridor, once outside Spock’s quarters.  
The only thing the Vulcan desired more at that moment than the freedom to laugh with him, was the freedom to tell Jim how fiercely he agreed with that teasing statement.  
Bewildered, the First Officer had just discovered one more thing that himself and his Captain agreed on…  
_  
  
  
He snapped out of the reverie of the memory abruptly, as McCoy’s voice cut through the silence of his room with the whooshing of the door to his quarters.  
  
“I’m just grateful that for once, the aliens want to have _dinner_ with us, instead of tryin' to force us into some hair-brained religion to worship them. Or, the usual order of war with a side of chaos, then... polish it off, with a nice tall cool glass of pain-in-the-ass repairs…”  
  
“I'm guessing you've forgotten that’s why we’re out here, Bones.” Jim’s response was enriched with warmth and amusement. The pair of them appeared in the bathroom doorway, Bones scowling, Jim positively glowing.  
  
“Oh I know _that_ , Jim.” A wild gesture of a hand, for emphasis. “It’s just easy to forget amongst all the Goddamn fighting for our lives we do!” The doctor turned his attention from the Captain to the First Officer, who stood before them with his hands clasped patiently behind him. “Well, take a look at you, Spock. Not a protesting hair on your head, as usual. Some people get all the luck. Damn cowlicks have me ready to shave this whole Godforsaken disaster off the top of my head-”  
  
“Relax, Bones. You look fine. Practically a picture of Southern charm and beauty…”  
  
“Now you can go right ahead and shut the hell up, Jim.”  
  
“I mean it, really. That blue, with _your_ eyes is just-”  
  
“If you’re lookin’ for a quick way to end up in sickbay tonight, you’re getting warmer.”  
  
“Cowlicks, gentlemen?”  
  
“Honestly, I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation right now Spock… nor do we have the time.”  
  
Another buzzing rang demandingly, and a man’s voice joined them in Spock’s quarters via the com.  
  
“Captain Kirk, if you’re there, this is transporter room. Ready to begin teleportation… awaiting your command to energize.”  
  
Jim wandered out and punched the respond button promptly.  
  
“Understood, we’re on our way. Kirk out.” Turning back to his closest companions, the Captain offered them a pleasant upturn of lips as he inclined his head toward the exit.  
“Without further ado gentlemen, if you‘ll accompany me…”  
  
Dutifully they sifted through the well known corridors together, speaking in not-so-hushed tones as they moved. They made last minute adjustments on their universal translators, and each privately found their own way to prepare themselves for what lay behind the doors in the transporter room.  
The trio stepped through, in synch like a finely tuned concerto.  
  
\---  
 _Beautiful Nightmare..._  
  
Well, nobody was being forced into a strange organized religion, there was no sign of a double cross, and bonus, nobody was dead.  
Already, this had gone better than 79.276% of their previous attempts at first contact.  
As dinner progressed almost disturbingly well ( _this **is** the Enterprise_ ), Spock came to realize a few key facts regarding the culture of their current otherworldly guests.  
The aliens, who called themselves the Impudeits, were more akin to humans than Vulcans. Enormously, without question.  
Especially in regards to their insatiable curiosity, and mischief.  
Their appearance was striking but docile- they were tall, lanky, thin, and graceful. They were a combination of angular and smooth, all bearing a neatly tied or free flowing river of silver hair. It fell luminous and sleek like silken thread, tumbling down their slim backs. Their skin was unusually pale, only coloured by the light lavender pigment of the blood that coursed their veins. This travelled through their bodies at a considerably slower rate than humans and Vulcans alike. After taking a discreet tricorder reading, Bones had confessed in hushed tones that their beats per minute were 48- nearly half the rate of the human heart.  
It made perfect sense, as their wholly mellow manner of motion indicated a slower metabolic rate.  
It seemed to suit their rather fluid and dreamy gestures, swift but dainty in their movement. However, it certainly did not suit the personality of their culture as a whole.  
Their slightly odd appearance was not nearly as boggling as their customs, their approach to total strangers.  
Their voices were mild and soothing, gentle- but their manner of speaking was highly enthused, excitable. An interesting contrast.  
They were unashamedly friendly-both curious and eager to encounter an alien culture.  
They were wholly open, thus explaining their surprise at the unnecessary body attire called ‘clothing’ the humans donned.  
They seemed entertained at the prospect of putting on the strange and colourful items the humans called clothing, and in the name of honouring cultural diversity, they too decided to ‘dress’ for the occasion .  
Their sense of bashfulness was considerably lower, their need for privacy nearly non-existent. They were bluntly honest, extremely humorous, and to the point. They enjoyed sharing stories using elaborate hand gestures, similar to humans- who were so inclined to using them whilst speaking.  
The Impudeits were an easy and welcome ally to the federation, and it was clear that this was going to be one of those few encounters that held little threat to the Enterprise.  
It was a welcome relief, for a battle weary crew.  
The only hitch in the evening came when one of the aliens stopped fighting the urge to resist touching Spock’s pointed ear, and just went ahead and did it. Kirk went from grinning lazily at the alien beside him to nearly capsizing his chair, when a sharp mental pang of protest that did not belong to him rumbled through his consciousness.  
  
“You will not place your hands upon my First Officer without permission.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was forming them, and delivered with far more possessiveness than he'd intended. “He descends from a differing race. They are extremely sensitive to physical contact.”  
  
The alien reluctantly withdrew his hand from Spock, who seemed more tense than usual at the unwanted attention.  
  
“But they are so aesthetically pleasing…”  
  
“Yeah, it’s tempting.” McCoy snickered, earning a leer from both of his closest friends.  
The alien seated beside Kirk decided to pipe up.  
  
“This is a world outside our own, and therefore it possesses its own set of rules that must be obeyed. It is understood. This breach of etiquette shall not be repeated without given permission. What is it then, outside the obvious, that your First Officer possesses which you humans do not?”  
  
“Touch telepathy, and heightened nerve endings to accommodate and enhance their telepathic abilities.”  
  
The alien doe like eyes around the room all came to rest on the only Vulcan at the table, who seemed both abashed at the attention and determined not to show it. The Impudeit sitting opposite of Bones seemed to enliven with this information, fascinated.  
  
“Indeed? How wholly interesting! In the wake of this, they must make the most exquisite and thoroughly enthusiastic lovers, do they not?”  
  
Kirk, in the midst of sipping Romulan Ale, proceeded to nearly choke on his mouthful.  
Bones, trying so hard not to laugh that he was practically purple, thumped Kirk heartily on the back from where he sat.  
  
“They! AHMM. They are an _extremely_ , private culture…”  
  
“I must apologize for my second in command. He is open, and quick with his words, even for an Impudeit. You have embarrassed Mr. Spock. Do you not smell the indignation in the air, mingling with humiliation? Your query was inappropriate. You will apologize at once.”   
  
“My sincerest apologies, my Vulcan friend. No grounds for malcontent were intended, on my word.”  
  
“You are forgiven; this is a time of learning-”  
  
“AHHM, I’m sorry I’ve- Ahk! Must’ve swallowed the wrong way…ok, ok, I‘m good.” A hushed, harsh whisper: “I said I’m good. _Stop it_ , Bones!”  
  
The Impudeit Ambassador stood with a sweeping, graceful motion, her lithe, thin form attracting attention.   
  
“I too offer my apologies, First Officer Spock. It is not my intent to leave this vessel befriending only one of its cultures. We mean you no disrespect, it is only our way…” As Spock inclined his head, her eyes widened in fascination at the jade hue that streaked across his cheeks. “Oh, but he does produce quite an appealing shade of green in the wake of humiliation, does he not? Quite lovely!” She exclaimed as she re-claimed her seat.  
  
Kirk covered his face with his hand as Bones slid further down into his seat, grinning like a fool, now half cut and shaking with the need to giggle.  
The alien closest to Scotty let out a burst of mirth, surprising the headstrong engineer beside him, and nodded aggressively in agreement.  
  
“Have you ever seen anything like it, my comrades? _Much_ more appealing than our rare, pale violet reaction to bashfulness. And what shade is your humiliation, Captain?”   
  
“As you can see, the Captain is sporting quite a vibrant shade of red. And you can all be sure, it’s the shade of humiliation.” Bones drawled with a shit eating smirk and the tip of his now empty glass, causing the humans around the table to explode into a round of guffaws. In turn, the Impudeits indulged in the laughter as well.  
Spock, in the meantime, struggled desperately to figure out how he was going to make it through the rest of this dinner.  
And how wrong he had always been, thinking that he’d met his match in human beings.  
How very, _very_ wrong.  
The Impudeits were unquestionably akin to humans, only more open- evidently due to their keen ability to taste and smell emotion as it permeated an area.  
It was like his most unthinkable social nightmare, unleashed right here at this very dinner table.  
 _Surak, if I live to see the end of this day…_  
\---  
  
As Spock was the nearest to the guest quarters (and the only sober officer leaving the dinner party), it was his duty to see the Ambassador to her resting quarters for the night.  
She was an easy conversationalist, and in this case, Spock found himself grateful for his exposure to human beings. It had certainly helped to pave the way in preparation, for creatures he might encounter who were actually ( _impossibly_!) more emotionally free than them.  
As they came to a halt beside her door, Spock inclined his head respectfully.  
  
“I trust you’ll find your quarters accommodating. Should you require assistance, my quarters are opposite your own-”  
  
“As you must know, your Captain is very protective of you, and fond.” The alien now known to him as J’emovere informed him, turning to view his reaction with warm, gentle eyes. “He speaks of you with such immense respect and enthusiasm, regardless of your conflicting cultures. It is stirring, to see that other cultures outside ourselves are also capable of loyalties as fierce as our own.”  
  
“It is the duty of my Captain to ensure dignity and respect is maintained amongst the crew, and also, throughout our diplomatic encounters.”  
  
J’emovere grinned openly, and the lightest of lavender rose to her cheeks, creating a delightful tint of color on her pale features.  
  
“Well I find it thoroughly pleasing, your effect on one another… even arousing! Perhaps enough to store in my memory, for usage at a later juncture. It is not logical, for that I apologize. I mean no disrespect, for it is the way of my society to be so frank and open with one another. However, it is evident to me that you share these feelings. You are, in return, equal parts possessive, fond, and sexually frustrated by your Captain.” If she had noticed how emerald Spock’s cheeks and ear tips promptly turned, she was good at acting like she hadn’t.  
Spock, on the other hand, wasn't the greatest actor in the galaxy.  
He was now quite blatantly taken off guard, at a complete loss on what to do, or what to say in a rare moment of his life.   
She had that mischievous glint in her eye again.  
“Yes, it is difficult to hide emotion and truth from us. The flavour of emotion is impossible to mask. Granted, your emotion is considerably more muted than that of a humans, but its scent bears a more potent aroma due to your differing heritage. The scent of your excitement is much sweeter than that of a humans. I apologize, if I could control my unusual abilities, I would do so in an act of respect. It is strange for your kind and his, our ability. Is it not?”  
  
Spock, distinctly horrified by this, simply stood before her as solidly as a sculpture, the whites of his eyes showing around his coffee dark irises.  
“If we might keep the content of our conversation amongst ourselves…”  
  
“Certainly. I shall grant you the privacy which is customary to your culture. Albeit I must confess a concern, for the well being of your kind and his. Is it not rather unhealthy, for creatures so emotionally connected and dependent such as yourselves, to deny each other access to these bare emotions? It must be so lonely, so difficult to bear such strong primal feelings, coupled with a cultural shame in expressing them. Surely it must grow frustrating, as you have no means of detecting each others emotions as we do?”  
  
Spock, encouraged by her honesty and vow of secrecy, decided to humour her.  
She would know the truth anyway, whether he divulged or not. That much was certain.  
  
“It is… trying, in some instances. For some individuals, considerably more than others. Denial of that fact would be an untruth.”  
  
“Why do you not go to him?” Her question was abrupt, unexpected- and Spock re-grasped his slipping bearings. She had asked this of him rather sadly, studying the strange individual before her as she experienced his many muted reactions to that question.  
Bashfulness, nervousness, a revolt at his own emotions…  
“Please, understand. The scent of your stubborn resistance near strangles me even now!” She laughed. “It is of no use to attempt to hide from me, Mr. Spock. Even now, you are revealing your true intentions and feelings on the matter, consensual or not. I shall not divulge the information you accidently or intentionally provide me with. We are an open culture, but we do not exist without honour to our words.”  
  
“It is not…” Spock struggled with this prospect, of speaking openly on this, thinking each word out carefully. This conversation was a little more than terrifying, but here they were. He was cornered by circumstance. “There is… a level of propriety, which must be held between Captain and First Officer at all times-”  
  
“All times? Have your duties consumed your lives, to the point of no relaxation or enjoyment? Surely, it would not be seen as an interference to your work! Do not all creatures require a mate, and the sense of satisfaction and security that goes with it?”  
  
The sharp flavour of shame, of resentment.  
  
“…in our culture… the joining of two males. It is… known, to be frowned upon, on occasion. Much hatred and controversy has been spawned on the issue. Specifically amongst humans.”  
  
She shook her head in disbelief, wide dark eyes plainly wearing her disappointment.  
  
“So far.” She whispered remorsefully. “Your culture and his have so far a distance to travel towards contentment... do they not? Such a burden to bear. There are still so many things to be learned, many hurdles to overcome. Your stubborn ideals and leashing of emotions have caused much hurt for your kind and his alike, it seems.”  
  
“Indeed.” Spock’s eyes were attached to the floor, the humiliation of this strange, unusually open conversation taking full effect. How could he possibly mask his human side, if he was helpless to withhold his unruly emotional reactions? How could he feign the non-existence of emotions that were so easily sniffed out?  
A hand caressed his forearm, and his eyes met the dark depths of J’emoveres.  
  
“ _Bellaih_ _th'enebraeth_..." Her voice soothed, the briefest uttering of a foreign tongue too ancient to hope to decipher. "Do not be so shamed of yourself. You are a very pure and genuine creature, fathomlessly intelligent and peaceful. You are pleasant, and beautiful. These are traits belonging to you that your Captain is already quite aware of. He is, as I mentioned, quite fond of you. The scent of his affection for you was both strong, and immensely pleasing. It was assumed by us as a collective on account of this, that your roles were both professional and romantic. It is a pity this is not yet so. You would be a most handsome coupling.”  
  
At the re-appearance of the delightful emerald shade enlivening Spock’s features, the Impudeit Ambassador smiled apologetically.  
  
“My curiosity has gotten the better of me- I have made a habit of embarrassing you this evening. My apologies. Please understand, this is very new for my kind. You are our first experience with humans and Vulcans alike…”  
  
“None is necessary. You merely whet the curiosities we both share, as two alien cultures coming together for the first time. Do not interpret our modest and prim mannerisms as dislike, for this has been a most agreeable encounter. It has been… undeniably strange, yet welcome. I regret that your stay upon our vessel will be so short lived. I am anxious to learn more of your culture, its history and traditions. Your abilities are most fascinating.”  
  
“As the newest members of your Federation of Planets, you can be sure to look forward to many more. And I shall venture to make your next encounter with us less… awkward, and humiliating for you to bear. Will you be amongst the officers who will see us away tomorrow when we depart?”  
  
“The pleasure was mine. I shall endeavour to be there, if the Captain requests it. Enjoy your evening, Ambassador. Live long and prosper.”  
  
He offered the Vulcan salute, which was returned to him by the Impudeit leader.  
  
“Health, freedom, and mirth to you, my Vulcan friend. For we honour these three things above any other.”  
  
As they broke off for the evening, Spock returned to his quarters as a man living in a dream world would- then all but collapsed onto the bed in relief.  
Flushing madly, trembling, he scrabbled for control.  
 _Control! After all that has taken place-/Meditation will be entirely necessary for this evening…_  
The conversation had absolutely rattled him, and there was no room for this emotionalism in a Vulcan mind.  
All he could feel at that moment was a blend of mortification, and gratefulness.  
Gratefulness, now, that the federation was run by humans, and not Impudeits.  
For if that were the case, his control would have been dead and buried many ages ago.  
He never believed the day would come, when he’d grow so immensely thankful for his placement with humans.  
But here it was.  
Because that evening, had truly been...  
What words were there.  
It was one of those very few times on the Enterprise, a rare occasion that Spock found himself feeling out of place.  
He was not entirely bothered by the sensation, as he’d grown used to the feeling of being an ill fit to any world from a young age.  
He had always been an outsider, on every planet.  
He was only at home on the Enterprise, with Jim- and it was rare that he was made to feel an outsider there.  
As he set up and lit his candles and incense, he was hit with a wave of remembrance.  
There was a strong memory, a previous sensation of being ‘out of the loop’, as Bones deemed it.  
It was during the first year serving on the Enterprise as Jim's First Officer, and Spock had chosen the wrong moment to join the Good Doctor and his Captain for lunch, it seemed…  
  
  
  
 _“Sex with a Tellarite, or a blowjob from a Gorn?”  
  
“Bones, I’m trying to enjoy my chicken sandwich.”  
  
“Yeah? Be my guest, Jim. Just sayin’. Y’still gotta pick one.”  
  
“Come on, Bones. I know my last choices were bad…”  
  
“ **Pretty** bad.”  
  
“Not **that** bad.”  
_  
 _“Inquiry, gentlemen.”  
  
Two sets of eyes rested curiously on the Vulcan.  
  
“The term ‘blowjob’-”   
  
He never got further than that before the howling laughter drowned the sentence out. A single arched brow climbed out of sight beneath the glossed bangs, as his two companions roared inconsolably. The two human males then bantered, engaged in a competitive (illogical) ritual known as ‘rock, paper, scissors’ (which Bones promptly lost). The good doctor was then forced to chuckle and smirk his way through the definition of a blowjob, for the benefit of the horrified Vulcan.  
  
“Aw, well shit, Spock. You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of that before? Well, I’ll be damned.” The doctor sat back, grabbing his glass to tip the remainder of it into his grinning mouth. “Jesus, man. No wonder you’re so uptight.”   
  
Spock, who was then attempting to prevent his Vulcan half from committing suicide to escape the burn of the flaming illogic, sat as tense as a piece of two by four.  
  
“Really, Doctor. I may solely credit **you** , for my firm belief that the human race will most certainly be the cause of my early demise.”  
  
In the wake of this cutting comment, Spock had grown increasingly alarmed as tears rolled down Jim’s face, strangely coupled with huge guffaws. Bones had to assure him that humans could often weep out of hilarity as well as they could out of sorrow, and that Jim was indeed not on the brink of a mental collapse.  
This information only furthered the Vulcan’s theory that human beings were unfortunately born insane, and they were slowly but surely going to whittle away at his own sanity due to the exposure.  
When it came time to retire to his quarters for that evening, Spock found himself unable to shake the events and information that had surrounded this lewd Terran act.  
  
Positively shocking! They surpass even wild animals with this confusing, primal act of unrestricted lust.  
  
(“Oh trust me, Spock. It’s not news.” Bones had guffawed.  
  
“Yes, it’s… quite common. Surprised you‘ve never heard of it. And, a pity.” Kirk added, his grin positively combusting.)  
  
Although the prospect had left Spock’s Vulcan half running screaming from the mountain of illogic sitting on that particular act, the idea of it occupied his evening- so distracting, he had bypassed meditation that night and lay awake. Mortified, he realised that not only did he find himself aroused by the idea of such an event, but he was desirous to satisfy his curiosity regarding it.  
He could only imagine (quite happily to do so) Kirk’s wildly emotional reactions to engaging in such a strange act.   
Appalling, Spock. Absolutely, thoroughly appalling, and illogical.  
His human half revelled in the enjoyment of once again successfully ‘freaking out’ (as Uhura was so fond of saying off duty) his Vulcan half.  
Regardless of what either half of him thought, he was most certainly well beyond turned on, both by the increasingly rebellious thoughts, and of course the content of them.   
(It was that evening he discovered why humans found this act so gratifying to think on, and to carry out.  
It had come to his attention that night that his Captain had an impossibly luscious, delicious looking, plump set of lips.  
That fact, combined with the positively devilish nature of this new sexual act, made sleep a rather scarce commodity for Spock that night.)  
  
  
  
I wrap you around all of my thoughts, you're my temporary high...  
_  
  
  
The First Officer abruptly whipped back to the here and now, seated on his floor and preparing for meditation. He closed his eyes, desperately willing himself patience (...and failing miserably)...   
He allowed a small sigh of frustration, as he looked down to find his pants noticeably tightened.  
Resigning before even beginning to try, he blew out each candle again one by one, knowing this was just a fruitless battle. This whole night had been a disaster by Vulcan standards. Why not dig a bigger hole, go all the way to hell, and bypass the meditation.  
He was too distracted by his human imagination running wild now- _oh, **no**. No, no...  
_ Jim, plus his green wrap, plus the absolutely appalling act so bluntly described by Doctor McCoy-  
 _Surak, have mercy on my helpless consciousness. My human half is disturbingly close to the surface this evening... it is the Impudeits. The madness of this day...  
It is Jim, in that well tailored formal command uniform.  
Jim, wasting no precious time by hastily getting out of that well tailored formal command uniform./Meditation. **Immediately**._   
  
Instead, he unbuttoned his formal dress. ( _The unbearable madness of this day_!)... the bare strangeness of his conversation with the Impudeit Ambassador. How utterly open and unguarded her kind were, their mind-staggering abilities...her stunning words.  
  
 _Do not be so shamed of yourself..._  
  
He lay his boots neatly back in their rightful spot, before he slipped down and out of his pesky starfleet trousers...  
  
 _You are pleasant, and beautiful. These are traits belonging to you that your Captain is already quite aware of. He is, as I mentioned, quite fond of you...  
_  
He paused, feeling the familiar flaming of his cheeks- how utterly startling were the words she'd spoken, how humiliated by her sampling of his emotions he'd been. Yet it had been one of the most thought provoking conversations he'd ever had. The most inviting prospects had also busted wide open within their discussion. If she indeed had sampled his own Captain's emotions...  
 _This is insanity! You will cease at once-/Perhaps she spoke only truth. Did she not sample my own emotions, describing them accurately, in the order that they were experienced?/To even begin to accept- to even suggest that Jim would be so fiercely attracted to me..._   
How delicious it would be, to allow himself to dive in to her words, savour the possible truths...  
  
 _The scent of his affection for you was both strong, and immensely pleasing. It was assumed by us as a collective on account of this, that your roles were both professional and romantic._   
  
A shiver of delight. Sliding out of the last of his garnments, Spock resigned himself to the comfort of his bed, dwelling on the thought. Both professional and romantic.   
If this were the truth, Jim would already be in his presence, or just wandering into the room, grinning and moving like a lazy tomcat.  
And as he always did, he'd laugh and talk to Spock as he slipped out of his formal gear.   
Unabashedly stripping down, talking, until there was nothing but pure gold body to admire.  
And he would be oblivious to how senseless and ravenous he'd be making his second in command.  
 _No, not oblivious.  
He is quite evil, truly.  
His sensuality is his weapon- potent, lethal._  
He had to be well aware of what his body did to people.  
Spock was certainly not immune.  
Oh, Jim would know exactly what he was doing. He just wouldn't care. That would be half the fun of it for him.  
 _So mischievous...  
He'd be here, in this bed.  
I would touch, explore, and indulge as I pleased.  
That smile...I would devour that delicious mouth...  
Possess him. But oh, how he does stake his own claim within me.  
I do desire the sensation of his hands on me..._  
  
And it would be as such every night, all their nights together.  
Protecting the silver goddess that brought them together by day.  
Indulging in their 'just desserts' in the comfort of night, the endless sea of stars...  
By night, Kirk and Spock had to serve nobody but each other.  
  
 _And I wish to.  
Every chess game, every delight of the flesh...  
Professional, and romantic._  
  
  
 _'It is a pity this is not yet so. You would be a most handsome coupling.'  
_  
  
"It is, a pity." Spock spoke to no one but himself, closing his eyes mostly for the promise of escape from his thoughts.   
  
_'Spock...you look great. Cut it out.'_  
  
His reeling mind didn't seem willing to forfeight, and there were... other, far more pressing matters that demanded his attention.  
A sigh, and his hand covered ground sliding down the contour of his abdomen...  
Well, he had already given up on today anyway- long before he'd gotten _this_ turned on.  
This was going to be, as the terrans were so fond of saying, ‘one of those nights’.  
  
\---  
  
 _...something tells me he's not the first or last person to have 'one of those nights'.  
  
The idea of Spock being a day dreamer has always appealed to me, especially watching the show. He always seems to be experiencing plenty of inner turmoil- both pleasing and wretched- depending on his situation. Also, it's an exciting prospect- everyone loves a secret, and Spock always looks like he's carrying around a nice, tidy wealth of them.  
A man that smart **and** quiet must have a fine tuned imagination, after all.  
  
(In case anyone was curious, Ambassador J’emovere referred to Spock as a 'handsome darkness', when addressing him in her native tongue.)   
  
_

_Ruby <3  
_


	4. The Most Beautiful Thing Never Said

\---  
  
 _There is a place where I can go  
When I feel low, when I feel blue  
And it's my mind...  
  
I think of you, the things you do  
Go round my head, the things you said...  
In my mind there's no sorrow... don't you know that it's so?  
There's a place..._  
  
\----  
  
 _Sweet Dream…  
_  
\---  
  
The first thought that had been rendered coherent in his stunningly alert mind was the formation of three words.  
This.   
Is.  
impossible.  
  
 _This is a dream.  
_  
Because his world was far from what one would dub ‘ideal’.  
And in an ideal world, Jim reciprocated his desires.  
Yet, here it was again.  
This incomprehensible situation that he‘d been calling ‘dreams’.  
But this…  
This  _felt_  different.  
He warily eyed the man before him ( _so overwhelmingly golden_!), then dared to look him in the eye.  
There was a hunger there… then again, all things considered, there always was in this place.  
Before, it disturbed- nearly frightened Spock. Now, he was curious.  
He was feeling bold; more bold than usual.  
His human half had more than leapt to the forefront before he drifted into slumber.  
Now it was his human half that would run amok, certainly.  
Who would deny him here, in this solace?  
  
 _Who indeed…  
_  
In the secret confines of his mind, and in the rampant freedom of his human ability to dream, Kirk was his, and he was Kirk’s.  
When he’d first dreamt of Jim, he’d been so overtly mortified.   
He was certain that if he had faced Kirk when he'd awoken, he would have been caught.  
But he woke alone.  
He’d snapped back into consciousness with a start, so disgusted and horrified by himself, that even in the fog left over from his slumber, he fumbled around the dark room and managed to find the candles.  
From there, he attempted- that night and many more, in a ritual- to rid himself of the unpredictable, illogical theatrics known as dreams.  
And failed.  
Seeing the stubborn issue would refuse to come to a close, he did what Vulcans do best.   
Get over it, and follow through with the façade that he was in complete control of himself.   
Sometimes he was disconcerted, when he thought of it as ‘fooling himself’.  
It had proven itself to be a most burdensome adversary, regardless of his efforts.  
For one, he’d rarely experienced dreams before the Enterprise, before Jim…  
  
 _Merciful Surak… before Jim._    
  
A time in his life that seemed so distant, so dull.  
Before Jim, he’d dreamt sparingly.  
After the fact, well… he’d learned to get used to it.  
It was a part of life; Jim already had him in every waking moment of the day, be it in presence or in mind. It was only fitting that Kirk should stake claim within his sleeping mind, as well.  
Yes. He dreamed about his Captain, and there was nothing he could do about it.  
But…   
Not like this.  _Never_  like this before.  
Fantasies of the mind are pleasurable, yet surreal… lacking.  
How could a fantasy measure up to all that was James T. Kirk?  
Never with that same untamed and unpredictable manner that came as a second nature to Kirk- one of those many assets that made him the ruthlessly efficient captain that he was.  
An iron, stubborn will wrapped around a soft, sometimes vulnerable, compassionate core.  
So…human.  
The man standing before the increasingly confused Vulcan was simply…  
Just too real.  
The reactions were a little too accurate- the expressions unnervingly dead on.  
A little too James T. Kirk to be anything but the real thing.  
Another first, in his sleeping mind.  
 _Fear._  
Because he knew, finally, he was slowly admitting it to himself.  
A whisper, only a small whisper; but it was a whisper of admittance nonetheless.  
  
 _Perhaps, just perhaps, this bears meaning that is greater than a dream./Absolutely nonsensical- what facts to base it upon?/My instincts alone…/Are not enough to warrant the credible title of ‘truth’. There is no substantial evidence-  
_  
“Spock...” As it always seemed to, the humans voice re-grasped the Vulcan’s attention from where it had been drifting. With Spock’s dark eyes now giving him full attention, Kirk hesitated. For one of the few moments in his existence, he appeared almost… shy. He looked down, at war within his own mind before his Captain mask settled back into place. It gave him the courage to meet those midnight eyes again. “Speak to me, with all the honesty I’ve earned over the years. You… want me?”  
  
Again, bold and unexpected. Kirk spoke this authoritatively, standing firm before his 1st Officer. There was a mere gap between them that was being filled with the intensity of the Captain’s gaze. Still, a slight puzzlement- confusion brooded there too, in the form of a minute dent forming at his brow.  
So many emotions. So many fleeting, yet powerful emotions.  
  
 _So disturbingly real..._  
  
It made the sternness in Spock’s back weaken, made him feel secure and anxious all at once, like it always did. How did he react to a question like that, as if this madness was not out of the ordinary, but a routine occurrence? (It certainly  _had_  been, for the past few weeks…)  
The Vulcan swallowed, hard- hoping to push the illogical fear down with it.  
There was no logical reason to experience fear in this scenario, and he reprimanded himself for the ludicrous sensation.  
  
 _This is only a dream.  
_  
And in dream, Jim was not the property of the many faceless women of the galaxy.  
Jim was  _his_.  
This reminder sparked a dark coil of heat under his skin, excitement- and as he reached to grasp the others chin in a firm caress, the sharp intake of breath it earned him only added to it.  
  
“You are aware of this.” The deep, black velvet voice uttered quietly. Spock watched as Jim visibly reacted- frozen, face blank with shock, as though he’d just been stunned. It was amazing that without moving a muscle of his face, Kirk could portray so much through his expressive hazel eyes. Overwhelmed, Jim’s whole body finally seemed to exhale. His eyes fluttered closed, as if inside a temporary euphoria.   
  
 _Me? Of all the interesting, worthy people in all the galaxy… of those who have dared to try to entice him, he wants **me**?   
_  
 _That is Jims voice… those are his thoughts… I’m hearing Jim…how is this possible?  
_  
When Kirk opened his eyes again, it was as though a massive burden had been lifted from his gaze. It was no longer heavy with the thoughts he couldn’t share. A spark of sensation erupted as Kirk’s fingertips brushed the knuckles of Spock’s sensitive hand, still lightly cupping his chin.  
  
“I… do not understand. This has never… Jim, I can hear your thoughts-”  
  
“How long?” Another reel of surprise- and the Vulcan again fought to control his reaction, fending off the strange feeling that this was different. This was distinctly unusual  & different from most dreams. His breathing hitched, forcing his emotional reaction to the background. If he let this happen… if he really let himself think too hard about this, he might panic. He might lose his well trained mind to the madness.  
  
 _It is no different!_  
  
He grasped his Vulcan control and fit it over himself, deciding to take the reigns of the situation. Irregular or not, one thing remained constant while in the confines of his sleeping mind…  
  
“It matters not.” He declared firmly, and whatever Kirk had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. Jim sat abruptly, clasping his hands before him and wringing them.  
It seemed Spock wasn’t the only one concerned about his sanity.  
  
“It matters not?” If Jim hadn’t looked confused before, he sure as hell did now. “How… Spock, I don’t understand anything-  _nothing_ , about this...”  
  
Spock crouched to meet the human’s eyes, the movement fluid and mirroring feline grace. As it always did, that furrow in Jim’s brow stirred something in him that longed to reach out and smooth that crease- ease that worry in Jim’s mind.  
In the real world he’d simply stand and watch him go, his eyes the only indication of how hard it was to let him, and suffer for it.  
Not here.  
  
“Nor I, Jim...” He covered Jim’s wringing hands with his own.  
Spock observed as they stilled and relaxed at his touch. Bronze fingers began unclenching each other to gently spread out and thread with his.  
“You are mine  _now_. Are you not?”  
  
Their eyes remained locked, the physical touch seeming to open a linking channel between them. Spock felt Jim’s guilt, his regret- the quietest pining, the raw emotion. It was a palette of bittersweet hues, of words and feelings left unsaid… secrets beneath the Captain’s cast iron surface.   
  
“Over the years, I haven’t always been as upfront as I would’ve liked to be with you. I don’t want to be that man anymore, Spock. I’ve… I don’t want to pretend. Or is it just me, thinking there’s something between us, or wanting there to be? After everything we’ve been through, is that such a crazy thing to ask? Am I losing my mind?”  
  
“Jim… I do believe if you are mad, than I may undoubtedly be as well.”  
  
“I can take crazy… I need a little crazy, to survive in this job. What I’ve come to need more than that is you. …My God, what would you think of me, Spock? I love her, the Enterprise… she brought me this life. She brought me to you. I know, one day, they’ll force me to give her up. And it’ll shred me, Spock. It’ll be a… long recovery, from losing the Enterprise… the idea of retirement.”  
Jim’s eyes darkened, the idea a mere ghost, but a revolting one to him all the same.  
“I keep remembering what Captain Garth said to the press, before they locked him up for permanent care. ‘A Captain stripped of his command is the closest he’ll taste of death before it comes for him.’ No truer words spoken. And yet still… with all that said, I think that when the time comes... I, could, stand it. If I…  _knew_ , you’d be there with me, I could do that. Somehow, I know I'd survive. You'd accept no less of me. But to be out here, without you… Spock, I don’t think I can stand it if I end up alone. ”  
  
Spock’s brow rose at this, taking in the depth and the meaning.  
Nothing meant more to Jim than the Enterprise.  
No woman could keep him from his silver Goddness…  
  
“You look so surprised. Does it shock you, Spock? Does it come as a surprise to know your own worth in my eyes? …I suppose it’s not unwarranted. It surprised me… I didn’t quite believe it, when I first realised… what happened to us? When did I stop being one, sole person? Well let me ask you a question of your own. ...Are you mine?”  
  
Jim’s fingers had clasped around Spock’s hands, holding them to his chest. Spock was lost in the haze of the sweetest words, the most beautiful face… the most beautiful creature he’d had the pleasure and luck of being assigned to work with.   
How  _had_  his destiny led him here, to Kirk&Spock? What deity had he pleased immensely enough to irrevocably tangle his existence with that of this man?  
He felt the steady hammer of Jim’s blood rushing through his heart where his hands lay.  
And suddenly he felt sorry for his own race; sorry for those of Vulcan.  
For they would deny themselves, and never know passion like this.   
  
“Spock… don’t do this to me. After all I’ve said, and you’re just- If I never get to hear the words from your lips, dammit, at least offer me the truth  _here_ , now. Are you mine, or aren‘t you?”  
  
“Jim...” He breathed. It was the tone itself, quiet and dark silk, that silenced the human. The gaze and the hands, still unbroken, flared with life and heat through the physical contact.  
Hot, unquenchable flame...  
  
“…I  _have_  been.” The fierceness of the words was uncommon for the typically soft spoken Vulcan. Yet the sincerity of the delivery, simple as it was, matched the intensity of the smouldering ash eyes. “And always shall be yours. Whatever has come to pass before this interval is irrelevant.” This seemed to slacken Jim’s tension like a slow melt, soothing and eroding it completely.   
His eyes were now smiling with unshed emotion.  
He allotted himself the luxury of simply taking it in, revelling in the idea.  
  
 _I have been, and always shall be yours._  
  
It was the most beautiful thing, never said.  
There were few things left in Jim Kirk’s thick, leather bound book of dreams and goals that he had not yet ticked off.  
Hearing those words, from that man, had been written on a line in that book for a long time.  
Mentally, the pen still hovered there, waiting.   
In all these years, still waiting… still poised.  
This was the closest he’d ever gotten.  
The closest he’d ever been to his own true contentment.  
He would savour it, however great or little the meaning would hold when the morning came and carried this place away.  
There was nothing said for a stretch of time, as the two were content to remain connected by hand, by gaze, by thought.  
When Kirk spoke, it was with that strange, quiet voice- as though he might let it slip through at any moment how emotional he truly felt.  
It mattered not.   
He could not dare to hide it from Spock, as they touched.  
  
“All this time has gone by... goes by, with me wanting to hear you to say that. Even now, I know that you never might. Do you… have any idea how stressful it is for a human, wanting a Vulcan partner?”  
  
“I… would venture to assume, we share a relatively common ground of understanding in said matters. Do not believe yourself to be solitary, Jim. You are not, and have not been for some time.”  
  
Jim found the side of his face caressed by a hot, slender hand.  
  
 _All that strength. So gentle…  
_  
He felt the burning rush, and his vision swam and blurred.  
He bit it back forcefully, kept it to a hot brim at his eyelids… warned himself not to fall too hard into this.  
It was dangerous, knowing what was happening, but not why.  
Knowing this was somehow real, and not.  
But Spock was here with him, as he had always imagined… open, feeling.  
At that moment, that mattered even more than answers.  
  
“So this is what this place cumulates to. You… you, convinced you’re in love with me. A Vulcan, no less. This, is… quite ridiculously  _farfetched_  Mr. Spock, I must confess. But how often have we found ourselves saying that about situations we’ve dealt with in the past? It’s what we do for a living. We’ve been tangled in stranger than this and made it out alive, haven’t we?” He searched the dark eyes for a moment, already hearing… feeling, Spock’s reaction to his words.  
He smiled his lazy grin, leaning forward to bury his face against the hot hollow of Spock’s throat.  
The sigh of his breath tingled its way down Spock’s side, cool and refreshing against hot skin.   
  
“ …God, what I’d give to live this, even for one day out of my life…after all we’ve done, all the lives we’ve saved… all that time out here in space, surviving to the best of our abilities, fighting to stay alive... Is it too great a thing to ask, to have something to live for?” He muttered against Spock’s hair in the quietest of whispers, almost with a touch of melancholy… as though uttering it to himself alone. Spock’s mind had blanked with astonishment, for it seemed Jim had stolen the very thought- the very words, passing through his mind.   
Then Jim looked at him, smiled in that brilliant manner that usually took him moments to recover from before he could respond, and all thoughts he was responsible for holding on to were lost.  
Reduced, by his human.   
  
“Also, I’d… like to take this moment to commend your taste in men…”  
  
Spock closed his eyes,  _tight_ , as he fought a tedious battle not to let himself laugh at that.  
He turned from Jim sharply, attempting to re-collect himself.   
 **Madness**.  
Jim was clearly out of his mind, be it in dream or in reality.  
It was refreshing, to know there was at least one touch of continuity  _some_ where in all of this.  
  
“Jim…” A heavy sigh, which was at best less malevolent than blatant laughter. He turned back to face the human, his expression deadpan aside from a raised brow. “Really, Jim- I must inquire. Is this  _quite_  the moment for your taste in egoism.”  
  
“Well? I thought it was logical, of course.” The smile in Kirk’s eyes spread, reaching the rest of his face. He paced before his 1st Officer casually, more out of habit than anything, his expression gaining a deviant quality. “And if I’m the one responsible for the logic here, I think we should switch shirts. You in Captain’s gold…”  
  
Spock’s eyes were positively grinning as he followed Jim‘s movements.  
  
“Fascinating. I do confess to a… certain curiosity, in knowing how our lives would proceed, if such a reversal should ever take place.”  
  
This stilled Jim’s pattern of movement. He lifted his brows curiously, pleasantly surprised and intrigued. Spock recognized that smile Jim was wearing.  
He could feel the mischief crackling in the air.  
  
“Oh? Well Mr. Spock, I didn’t know you had it in you. A Vulcan with dominance fantasies? That‘s… well, I‘ll be quite honest... I‘m turned on.”  
  
Spock flushed a violent jade, a heat surging through him.   
Jim beamed as the familiar emerald rose to Spock‘s face and ear tips.   
Mission accomplished.  
  
“I would hardly deem it a  _fantasy_ , Jim.”  
  
He had just made a confession that not even the Klingons using a mind-sifter on force 8 could have gotten from him. And all Jim had to do was smile at him like that, flirt with him…   
His lips tightened with embarrassment.  
Jim, on the other hand, was quite tickled- barely roping in his enthusiasm.  
  
“So… this, of all things, is your secret fantasy-”  
  
“It is  **not**  a fantasy-”  
  
“Role reversal. I’ll be damned. Fancy yourself a Captain, Mr. Spock?” A charming, vibrant grin; blindingly enticing.  
  
 _So utterly Jim…_  
  
A bolt of surprise shattered through the Vulcan’s shield of calm so unexpectedly, his eyes had widened before he could re-claim control over his human half.   
  
 _How?  
_  
That smile was so  _stunningly_   _accurate_ , even Spock’s faith in his own flawless, perfect memory was becoming unstable.   
Was it possible to re-create such a unique, utterly uncanny expression, causing that same flurry of emotion?   
  
 _Impossible, illogical.  
_  
More importantly, it was the second display of something often well beyond the grasp of Spock’s wealthily capable mind.  
Humor.  
Jim, and his unquenchable love of humor.  
So entirely alien to him- but always something that he had secretly cherished about Jim. His ability to use it, to gain such enjoyment from it. He lived to take Spock off guard.   
The Vulcan Officer found himself in another battle as he revolted at the urge- no, the near  _need_  to smile. Another red flag.   
  
“Well, I’d personally be lying if I said that  **I've**  never thought about it.” Jim continued, moving toward his flushing companion. “You in command… relying on you entirely to get us through. What would it be like, Mr. Spock? What are your thoughts on the matter?” A slow, confident stride forward, and the blindingly warm smile tucked behind a more relaxed, enticing smirk. Playing.   
  
“As you do recall, my first experience of Captaincy aboard the Galileo Seven was quite literally mere seconds away from deteriorating into utter disaster- the complete annihilation of the lives I was responsible for. Again, it was your cunning as a Captain that had allowed me to survive that day, amongst many others.”  
  
As Jim instantly ruffled, ready to form a rebuttal in Spock’s defence, the Vulcan gently lay a single finger over the human’s mouth.  
He had learned, in his travels with them, that this was a most efficient way of both silencing them, and getting their attention.  
( _It certainly took them off guard_.)  
  
“It may also be noted that I am only in command in your absence- which, in any case, is a most unpleasant experience. I did not submit my services to Starfleet with the intention of becoming a Starfleet Captain… nor do I wish it. I am where I desire to be.” Ebony eyes flickered with a bouquet of amusement and assurance, a silent confidence and honesty. Kirks answering gaze radiated warmth at this, and the fierce endearment Spock saw there momentarily undid him.   
  
“Even in dream, you’re logical. Spock, what happened on Galileo Seven-”  
  
“Was no accident, or coincidence. I followed each logical step to that conclusion. The fact has been proven, in lieu of that event, that a Starship Captain cannot depend on logic alone to become successful in their profession.”  
  
“Tell me about it. Besides, why give up the blue shirt? You look so damn good in it.” Spock didn’t have time to pull himself back together after that random, massively illogical comment. He was treated to that smile again, and Kirk raised his arm to gently- ever so gently- trail his fore and middle finger from the tip of a pointed ear to the hot hollow of the Vulcan’s throat. He felt the tremor pass through Spock’s body at the touch, and how his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Well if you insist on being a scientist when you’re out and about on our ship, what about in the bedroom? Would you take a stab at being a Captain there, Mr. Spock?” Humor again, laced with seduction… so eccentric, so human, and dangerously inviting. Always so dangerously, but deliciously, inviting. Golden skin pulled tight over strong muscle, hazel eyes positively glittering with excitement. His body, like many human attributes, was ironic... conflicting, contradictory. Such strength and power in those limbs, such a fragile existence; the human body, the human life. Kirk’s make up was- as many humans tended to be- utterly baffling.  
It was as if their strange physical make up was designed to compliment their even stranger personality traits.  
So fragile, so strong. So unique.  
  
 _Perfection...  
_  
Spock could only let his eyes flutter closed, draw his muse near, and capture the smug grin on Kirk's lips with his own burning set.  
Jim gave way under the contact, letting himself slowly meld against the other as the contact spread from their lips onward.  
Spock knew it was illogical to think the man perfect; they both shared and observed a wealth of flaws in each other. But even Kirk’s flaws drew him in, enticed Spock. They encouraged and challenged him to fill those gaps, to fit in and complete Kirk where he could. To be there always, diving in to catch the ball if his Captain ever seemed ready to lose his grip. In turn, Jim enlivened Spock’s existence by being the answers he couldn’t attain through logic alone, by taking him off guard, by making him feel…  
Making him feel worthwhile.   
For giving him the gift of feeling  _anything_  but guilty, or painfully aware of being who and what he was, for the first time in his life. Unlike his home planet- unlike earth- Jim accepted him as he was, eagerly and easily, without hesitation.   
They completed each other, made up for what the other lacked… filling in the cracks of one another to make a smooth faced, well rounded creation...  
A voice from the past, quite cranky and laced with a Southern drawl, returned to Spock:  
  
 _'Well then, I can see you two are vacationing in your own Goddamn world again...'  
_  
Their own world.  
It sounded strange, but it was so frightfully accurate a term for describing their partnership; their rare, close relationship.  
 **Together** , they were perfect- like a well oiled machine, working its many parts and intricacies together to create a fluid harmony.  
To him,  _for_  him…   
Kirk was perfect.  
And no, it most certainly was not logical.   
Typically, this knowledge did discourage his Vulcan half. Somehow, his other half had never much cared that it wasn‘t logical.  
All the rules changed, when Jim was involved. That was fact, whether he liked it or not.  
He’d learned to accept that many years ago.  
He pulled back gently, finding a secret bliss in Jim’s delighted expression.  
  
“I... don’t remember, the last time someone gave me a kiss.”  
  
“You have a poor memory, Jim. It was precisely 4.2 seconds ago…”  
  
He felt that irresistible touch again, from ear tip to the hollow of his throat.  
That smile worked its way through him, coiling heat into the tips of his ears, flame across his cheeks, pooling in his lower belly… why did Jim effect him like this?  
Kirk had always been flirting with him, flirting for years, he realized with wonder. Even now, he had approached Spock with the same expression he wore to taunt him on the bridge.  
Why had Spock never seen that before?  
  
 _Because if this weren’t a dream, I’d know it were foolish to conclude that Jim possesses an attraction to me._  
  
The unexpected, rich laughter that blanketed Spock was all encompassing. Jim’s free burst of emotion took him off guard, and sent his insides into a tumultuous frenzy.  
  
“I’m not sure how they do it on Vulcan, Spock, but I thought I was being pretty obvious.”   
  
Captain, this is something other than what we assume to be a rendering of the sleeping mind, for I do not possess within me your adept skill at humour and emotionalism to conjure such-  
  
“Jim…” Is what actually came out. It was like having him there. Every ounce, every thought, every quirk of the lips, every gesture of the hand.  
Jim. Completely, undoubtedly Jim.   
He desperately longed to reach for him and clasp him flush against himself again, to fulfill his hunger to touch and explore, his senses overwhelmed.  
All their physical and mental contact, the teasing, cumulated beneath his surface into the want, the burning…  
  
“Spock, are you shaking?” That was the first time since their bantering began that the handsome face fell into a tell-tale expression of concern. Golden hands reached for and met pale, long fingers- which had formed into fists. One of them came up and slightly, ever so slightly, connected with a warm bronze cheek. The spark of knowledge, of recollection, fondness, worry, love… so much emotion, so unchained, running wild.  
This was not his own half human, half Vulcan mind.  
These were not his thoughts, his memories.  
For he was seeing himself, seeing visions and flickers of memories of himself through the eyes of another.  
Through the gaze of someone who held him in high regard, and affection.  
This was himself, in the eyes of someone who loved him.  
Illogical…  
Fascinating, but painfully illogical-  
  
“Spock. …I‘m here.” Hazel commanded striking ebony to meet the gaze, and its quiet assertiveness wiped clean any coherent thoughts the Vulcan had.  
Jim wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said those exact words. He had merely felt it; that it was what Spock needed to hear.  
The words, simplistic in nature, were multi-dimensional- infused with innumerable layers of truth to Spock.  
Jim, here with him.   
Always here, always at his side.  
Friend, Brother, Lover…  
Spock shuddered at the very prospect, more real to him now than it ever could have been before in his life. Only in mind could he call Jim his T’hy’la.   
But much unlike humans, the mind was the first and most important place a lover could stake claim to, within a Vulcan.  
In a way, Spock had been Jim’s for years.  
Always yearning for more, never daring to lose what he held.   
He could not bear it; bear the loss of that which he now lived and breathed.  
All that he truly enjoyed living for.  
Jim, beside him- each complimenting  & completing the other.  
Although always thirsting for a deeper connection, Spock was still  _whole_  with Jim.  
  
 _‘Never and always touching and touched…’  
_  
“Spock... don’t you get it? Are you a telepath or aren’t you? I’m here because I want to be here."  
  
“You…” A thick swallow, and it appeared that soon Spock might shut down from the illogic. “Have your thoughtful inclinations toward me always been this desirous in nature?”  
  
For once, it was Kirk’s turn to raise a brow. Spock felt strong, cool hands grasp his upper arms as he was yanked close enough to be drawn in to Jim’s subtle, clean scent. A gust of a sigh, one belonging to an impatient man suffering a fool gladly. In the next breath the same mouth came forward, to consume Spock’s unguarded lips in a smouldering meeting.  
  
“Really Spock, I’ve never known you to be this slow on the uptake.”   
  
A sound, perhaps one neither Kirk or Spock had heard the likes of before, rumbled deeply within Spock’s throat- feral and heated need.  
That cool press of Jim’s mouth on his again without warning had shattered the Vulcan composure, leaving only a cocktail of primal Vulcan instinct- and human desire.  
The swift movement of reaction to this dam breaking unravelled into many things.  
Kirk found himself tugged toward the wall, and he pressed in eagerly against the slim frame coming alive under his golden hands. Spock’s hot hands were caressing, stripping- leaving flaming trails wherever his fingertips met cool flesh.   
Jim made quick work of the science officer blue, the black undershirt, reaching for the clasp of uniform black pants…  
Every bare inch of skin he revealed he explored, stealing articles of clothing until his First Officer had none left to spare.  
He moved back, briefly out of grasp to take in the sight.  
Spock was flushed jade, his bangs ruffled from Jim’s animalistic groping.  
His eyes were molten, dark desire, glaring Jim down hungrily in wake of the loss of contact.   
Spock wanted Jim’s thoughts, his body, his all.  
Jim had never in his waking life possessed a partner who made him feel so desirable... so alive.  
Finally having enough of Jim’s voyeurism, Spock gripped the smaller man with a possessive caress.  
  
 _Touch me…_  
  
Kirk heard the words infused with raw heat, distinctly not his own in his mind.  
He grinned evilly, arching in full contact against the bare body with his own, pressing it against the wall before he teasingly retracted from the touch.  
  
 _All in good time, Mr. Spock.  
  
Jim, please…_  
  
A cool tongue caressed a taut jade nipple, before that mesmerizing mouth devoured it.  
  
 _Ah! Wicked human…  
_ _  
_A strong hand drifted down, seeking between their eager bodies.  
The human’s cool grip was tight and agonizingly satisfying, curling around his eager erection.  
The Vulcan groaned in answer, pale fingers gripping gold hair.  
  
 _Is this what you want?  
  
Yes…  
  
What was that?  
_  
Another squeeze at the head of his cock, teasing, then release.  
  
 _Yes!  
_  
A thumb boldly skirting from the tip to the base and back again caused Spock’s breath to stutter.  
  
 _Mmmh, have you no mercy within you?  
  
None._    
  
Jim’s grin was beautiful, malevolent.   
To Spock’s befuddlement and rage, the human dared to take his hands back, ever the tease, and attempt to walk away from him.  
He didn’t get far.  
Fuelled by inescapable need, the First Officer grasped his Captain roughly, spinning him in one swift motion. In the next second, he was pressing the smaller man against the wall, their bare bodies mingling with electric rushes of hot and cool contact.  
Kirk cackled, eyes positively smouldering with smug enjoyment.  
  
 _Seeing you like this is too delicious…_  
  
As if in slow motion, the Vulcan watched- felt- as his golden tormentor pressed back against the wall and started to slip downwards. He drifted down past his lovers shoulders, his torso…  
Strong hands were sliding down his body to rest at his lean hips, as Jim came face to face with the results of his teasing efforts.  
  
“I believe I owe you this, Mr. Spock.” Kirk’s grin was diabolical; Spock’s glare was near lethal.  
  
“ **Ob** viously.” The Vulcan hissed through clenched teeth, faced with one of those few sparing moments of impatience in his existence.  
He gasped when Jim bent his head forward to flicker his tongue across the head of his cock, only allowing the faintest of wet caresses.  
  
 _Please, please, please…  
  
What is it, Mr. Spock. Getting restless for a lesson in fellatio?_  
  
It seemed that Jim had not forgotten the eye opening exchange that occurred during that lunch their first year, either.  
(Sometimes, certain points of interest and memories Jim decided to hold on to were better left to the not-so-dire.)  
  
 _Anything, anything…oh, how I burn- I need-Ah!  
_  
And he arched, seeking out for that divine curl of Jim’s tongue to caress him once more, just a little more… _please_ …   
  
 _Nhh, Spock…_  teeth, seeking out his hip…  _Spock- so fucking beautiful.  
I know you’d taste so good…  
_  
Another lingering exploration of taste and tongue, and Spock was quivering with need, a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat that impossibly spiked Kirk’s arousal.  
  
 _It’s almost cruel, how hard you make me want you…  
  
The irony in that statement is crippling.   
_  
 _Oh, you think so?  
  
AH! Jim…You cannot possibly want this more than I desire it.  
  
Oh no?  
_  
Spock cried out, leaning heavily toward the wall he faced as Kirk consumed his cock in tight, mind-shattering wetness, suckling fiercely.  
His tongue was relentless, exploring and twining along his length, working the head with a fury.  
His head bobbed with ease, each movement enthusiastic and fused with passion.  
  
 _If you had any idea how many times I’ve imagined following you back to your quarters or into a turbolift to do this to you…  
  
Ah! This pleasure, it is unbearably intense… oh yes, ohh,  **yes** …surely, it will be the death of me…_  
  
Kirk’s arms bound around slim hips, head and back pressed against the wall as he tugged the Vulcan eagerly into the confines of his anxiously working mouth.  
Spock thrust generously now, in reckless abandon as Jim’s tongue and lips ravaged him, drove him steadily toward a dizzying, devastating completion.  
He would not relent until the Vulcan shuddered and cried, consumed in the madness of agonizing pleasure.  
It was pure, blissful torture.  
The slick sounds, Jim’s answering groans vibrating through his taut length, the building shudders that mounted and broke over and over…  
His thrusts were erratic, helpless under the brutal skill of Jim’s tongue.   
So close, so close…  
  
 _When was the last time you thought of me doing this to you?_  
  
Jim’s mind demanded, stroking between Spock’s thighs, his legs, his most secret of places…  
  
 _Mmmmm, I cannot- Oh! Jim, you will be my undoing…  
_  
He was pressed against the roof of Kirk’s mouth, held captive.  
  
 _Tell me._  
  
A warning nip on the head of Spock’s cock, before Jim plunged back into his unforgiving pattern, ferocious and unyielding.  
  
 _I! Unh… hours… no, if even…minutes, perhaps minutes ago… before I succumbed to slumber…  
  
Spock…_  
  
Jim’s eyes were huge, spooked.  
  
 _I, too…  
_  
The depth of his gaze was dimming, fading…  
  
\---  
  
 _I’m going out of my head  
Lost in a fairy tale…  
Can you hold my hand, and be my guide?_  
  
\---  
  
When his startled, onyx dark eyes opened, finding himself alone in his quarters, he released his unbearable frustration with a single hissed Vulcan curse.  
In limbo between awareness and dazed, Spock lid still and silent after that, rebuilding control mentally, brick by brick.  
It was a slow, painstaking process, as he was already potently aroused by the dream.  
  
 _By the dream… another of those strange, physical dreams…/There is no logical reason to dwell on the conjured illusions of an uncontrolled mind. It is the result of your neglect to meditate-/There have been other nights akin to this, nights that have been coupled with meditation…/Enough! Your human side has been quite catered to in the past 24 hours. You must now make it your primary task to regain control before-_  
  
However, he had no opportunity to remedy his compromising situation before the buzzer to his quarters sounded. Wide eyed, the Vulcan’s gaze darted around his quarters in an act of desperation- as if seeking an escape. Realizing this futile delay of nervousness as the fruitless effort it was, his lips moved against his will, the automatic single word tumbling past them before he could stop it and analyze a more efficient solution to this abrupt chaos.  
  
“Enter.”  
  
Then it came to his attention that despite his efforts, he was still quite noticeably… excited.  
Mortified, he shot upwards into a sitting position- the buckled sheets cleverly disguising the evidence.  
Emotional mistake number two.  
He had gone to bed naked last night, and was now exposed from the waist up to his visitor.  
  
 _It is, as the Good Doctor is so fond of saying, ‘the lesser of two evils’./That is irrelevant. You now flaunt yourself half naked before a guest. You have a great deal of restraint to re-apply. It is advisable that you do so as promptly as possible..._    
  
Jim, still in his bed clothes and slightly dishevelled, wasted no time getting into Spock’s quarters.  
Spock mentally sighed, long and defeated.  
  
 _Here comes the death of any plot to restore control./Nonsense. A true Vulcan can maintain control even in the most dire of situations…_  
  
“Good morning, Jim.”  
  
The Captain had an expression of deep thought and concentration on his face. He was staring blindly at nothing as he moved toward the bed, evidence that he was thinking very hard about something… then his eyes lifted.  
And widened enormously.  
Unabashedly, for an isolated moment, his eyes raked over Spock’s naked torso, an unnamed emotion intense and bare in them.  
It was mere seconds, but for the both of them, it seemed considerably longer.  
He met Spock’s eyes, who was watching his reaction. An elegantly upswept brow raised at the unexpected attention, and Jim averted his gaze swiftly, as a disobedient child would once caught in a mischievous act. He was quick with his words.  
  
“Good morning, Mr. Spock, I… apologize, for the intrusion…”  
  
Jim’s hand tentatively went to the back of his neck, caressing and squeezing it in an attempt to maintain his cool and normalcy.   
  
“Apologies are unnecessary, Captain. Should there be any business aboard the Enterprise that I must be made aware of-”  
  
“I’m afraid there isn’t. None concerning the ship. Not yet.”  
  
“…Captain?”  
  
“Spock. It, is,  _Jim_. For God‘s sake- I mean I‘m even in my pyjamas here…”  
  
“Jim.” Spock’s deep velvet voice bore an uncharacteristic warmth. “You have concerns you wish to relay to me?”  
  
It came out quite casually, which was actually rather deceitful.   
Against all attempts to prevent it, Spock felt his heart begin to race at his side.   
He managed to swiftly reel in and tackle his fears regarding this approaching conversation, before it made him say or do something he most certainly should not.  
Being left alone in a room with Jim Kirk while inhabiting his bed naked was not something he was ready for this early in the morning.  
Not after a dream like that.  
Not even after a session of meditation could he have hoped for better control of himself right now.   
  
 _Control. You will not succumb to human instincts. It is simple. You will **not**./I do believe that my current situation could quite adequately be deemed an emotional catastrophe./Kaiidth! What is, is. Only a human will shape what is to come into something to fear; skew the unknown within a paranoia using their emotional insecurities and doubts. It is not the Vulcan way…  
_  
“…don’t know what’s going on this morning… maybe it’s just the hangover… now don’t hate me for asking you this…”  
  
Kirk was muttering, in his usual manner of avoiding a question he so dearly wanted to ask, but was abashed doing so.  
Spock’s eyebrows were still hovering high over their usual designated spot, in the aftermath of the ‘don’t hate me’ request and its irony.   
Humans, throughout history, had an unfortunate gift of expressing themselves by means of using poor word selection.  
In some cases, their ill thought out choice words had led to some of the most grizzly, lethal or unflattering moments in earths history.   
In this case, it was just ridiculous.  
Him, of all beings in the galaxy, hating Jim Kirk.  
  
 _Does the Captain not realize that this precise probability is less than .00005477?/It is not customary in human nature to deduct such accurate, comforting statistics. They prefer the chaos and illogical thrill of chance…/I too have felt the excitement of gambling. The thrill of chance and risk during missions, as I felt during our mission on Ekos./This is a fact that is best left in its rightful place in the past. It is the human side of you that revels and, even more disturbingly, excites in it…  
_  
Again, it was an uphill battle for him, as he attempted to keep the word logic far from this conversation.  
Because Jim was leading it, and it was this fact that gave him the most cause for worry.  
That is, he would be worried…  **if**  he were human.  
  
 _You are not._  
  
He swallowed, tuning back in to find Jim still muttering circles around what he was trying to get at.  
Finally, only one of Spock’s brows lowered, and he straightened his posture with dignity, leaning his head forward ever so slightly to indicate his interest.  
  
“You have a personal query?”  
  
“I just wanted to- that is I, was…” Jim trailed off. Though Spock’s movement had been innocent enough, it had bared one of his marble cut dips of hipbone. As if mentally kicking himself, Jim‘s gaze broke from the rare view of Spock’s eye pleasing form…   
  
 _Damn pity he’s always kept a body like that tucked away & wrapped up in those command shirts and Vulcan robes…_  
  
“...was thinking, before I retired yesterday evening, that perhaps I should‘ve- oh, for Jesus  _sake_ , I‘m- just trying to ask you if you‘re alright, Mr. Spock.”   
  
“I understand. You possess… reservations, regarding my well being and ability to perform, after yesterdays events.”  
  
“You should know better than that, mister. I trust your abilities, and it isn’t anything like that.”  
  
“I am unsure as to how many meanings the three words ‘are you alright’ combined may bear in the human language, according to yourself-”  
  
“You’re doing it again.” A finger pointed accusingly, Jim glowering in the background of it. This time, Spock didn’t try to hold back the sigh that escaped through his nose. But he  _did_  restrain the tempting eye roll. For once, it was Jim’s turn to raise a brow.  
  
“Did you just sigh at me?”  
  
“Vulcans do not sigh, Jim. It is illogical. In regards to your concern… while it is appreciated, it is quite unnecessary. I am well.”  
Vulcans don’t lie. However,  _half_  Vulcans… Spock knew that this was what Bones would most likely deem a ‘Goddamn loophole’.   
He was quite fine, physically. Mentally…   
Well, he’d work on that bit when he wasn’t naked. And alone. With his painfully attractive commanding officer.   
Still, there was a biting guilt at the prospect of hiding truths from Jim…  
He’d had to do this before, once, while assisting Captain Pike in a time of need.  
It had been one of the most challenging, excruciating moments in the entirety of his career.  
Because he had to bear the unfortunate burden of shutting out Jim.  
And with that came hurt, a great deal of hurt in Jim’s eyes, his movements… in his thoughts when they made fleeting contact.   
It stung Jim deeply to be put in the dark by Spock, and he didn’t do a great job of concealing it.  
Jim had been blatantly anguished. And in viewing this particular humans anguish, the Vulcan had suffered with him secretly in turn.  
Spock never wanted to have to feel that again…  
Feeling himself on the brink of an emotional expression through his thoughts, Spock veered from that path promptly.  
  
“You are awake… uncharacteristically early, compared to your previous mornings after alcohol consumption.”  
  
“Remind me never to have Romulan Ale served at a diplomatic function… ever again.”  
  
“Might I remind  _you_ , Jim, that you request this of me the morning following every previous diplomatic function we have arranged… and, how promptly it is forgotten preceding, and throughout the duration of every function we attend until the morning after? In which you will then promptly remind me to remind you-”  
  
“Alright, that’s enough, Mr. Spock. You’re right, and I get it. I know I’m just going to ignore it the next time, too. It’s… actually quite fun, until the hangover-”  
  
Abruptly, the conversation was interrupted by the surliest voice that had reached Spock’s ears all morning. Perhaps even throughout the entirety of his lifetime, as well.  
  
“Jim? … _Dammit_  Jim, are you there?”  
  
The Captain looked at Spock incredulously and shook his head in disbelief, moving over toward the com and punching the button to respond.  
  
“God almighty Bones… yes, yes I’m here, what are you doing snarling your way into Spock’s room this early in the morning? Usually you save your arguments up for him until the evening shift-”  
  
“I was about to ask you the same damn thing. Been trying to reach you for the past 20 minutes! I should start cutting to the God damn chase and just buzz Spock’s room whenever I need you! What in Christ’s name are you doing bothering Spock at this hour in the morning? Is it never too early for a game of chess, or is the consistent nagging of a Vulcan suddenly the secret miracle cure to a hang over?”  
  
“Contrary to your ludicrous yet firm belief, Doctor, I do have within my possession a social life separate of my duties as First Officer, in which I carry out non-work related pass times. Perhaps I was engaging in such aforementioned leisurely activities.” Spock, never one to resist bantering with the Good Doctor, put forward his two cents from the bed. Jim beamed over at him, keeping his silence and letting the show get on a roll.  
  
“Sure, Spock. You of all people were being a socialite. And I don’t have a flask in the top drawer of my desk. Now I have a headache the size of a Talosians forehead and a temper to go with it-”  
  
“As is expected of you consistently, Doctor, on any given day aboard the Enterprise…”  
  
“-And dammit, it’s too early in the morning for me to survive an argument-”  
  
“-the correct term would be debate, Doctor-”  
  
“ _Debate_ , you pointed eared- shut up, and let me talk to Jim.”  
  
“I find that ultimatum quite agreeable, Doctor.”  
  
At this point, Jim was barely succeeding in not cackling, smirking like a complete fool.   
Sometimes with those two, all you needed to bring to the event was popcorn.  
  
“Yes Bones, I never went anywhere… what is it?”  
  
“Jim? Ah…and I swear to Jesus, Spock, if I even hear you so much as part your  _lips_  over there, so help you God-”  
  
“Bones! Get it out!”  
  
“Very well,  ** _Captain_** , do you have any idea where in God’s great galaxy my pants ended up last night?”  
  
A wide eyed, high browed exchange between First Officer and his Captain at this unexpected inquiry.   
  
“A better question would be  _who_  they ended up with, wouldn’t it? And as far as I know, they could be anywhere from Nurse Chapel’s to Chekov’s quarters.”  
  
“That is not even the  **least**  bit funny, Jim. I wake up in a God damn turbo lift without pants-”  
  
“Thus proving how inefficiently you learn from previous errors, Doctor.”  
  
“Why you smart assed, green blooded son of a- hey, didn't I tell you to shut up?”  
  
"Indeed! Thankfully you are my physician, and not my commanding officer."  
  
"Small gifts from God..."  
  
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Bones… they can’t have gotten too far, seeing you needed three of us to get you back to your room last night. If nothing more, you can at least guarantee you’re feeling a milestone better than Scotty at the moment.”  
  
“Oh well Jesus, that might as well not even count... I mean who  _doesn’t_  feel better than Scotty if the night before involved alcohol?”  
  
“Most notably scotch!” Jim grinned, thinking on the condition he last saw his chief engineer in the night before.  
  
“The closest thing the poor guy has to a girlfriend…”  
  
“Harsh, Bones.”  
  
“Oh give me a break, Jim. The closest thing  _I’ve_  got to a girlfriend these days is either brandy, or you.”  
  
“Jeez, touche Doctor... you're on a roll this morning. Can’t very well argue with that…” It took a great, considerable chunk of Spock’s willpower not to grin- or worse, giggle- at McCoy’s unabashed self-degradation in the background. “But I’m warning you now, Bones, those pants better not turn up in the quarters of one of our guests.”  
  
“No guarantees.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. Meet us in half an hour at the Senior Officers break room. I could use a nice cup of coffee… or four. And please, find yourself some pants by then.”  
  
“I think I could make that happen in a half hour. See you then Jim, Spock…”  
  
“Bones.”   
  
“Doctor.”  
  
As Jim released the button and turned away, he gave a luxurious stretch.  
  
“Well Spock? Do you actually remember where his pants ended up?”  
  
“Negative, Jim.”  
  
“Well that makes both of us. At least that means we’re scot free.”  
  
“I beg your pardon… scot free?”  
  
“It’s- nevermind, just-” hazel eyes flickered over bare torso again, attempting and failing at discretion. “Just, get some clothes on. I’ll be back in about 20 minutes to collect you.” Jim turned to make a prompt exit, Spock watching him with a mix of interest and regret.  
  
“Captain-” A glare from the beautiful golden man, who had spun on his heels defiantly to offer a look of protest at the title. Spock was quick to correct himself. “Jim… without intent of offence or disrespect, I must excuse myself from our usual breakfast.”  
  
That one left Jim looking utterly dumb founded, as if Spock had just disclosed the most unusual of fetishes.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“There are… other matters… other functions, that require my attention direly. My need for meditation is currently my priority, as you will need me to function to the best of my ability on the bridge.”  
  
This info wasn’t debatable, and Jim knew this for certain- as it had issued from the most reliable crewman he had aboard.  
And still, he had that stubborn inkling. Though it made no sense- though there was no indication other than Spock’s decline, Jim felt something was off.  
He shifted position, arms folded, his expression loosely displaying his unsettled feelings.  
  
“Surely, you have to eat…”  
  
Spock’s Vulcan half attempted to contain the warmth, the nonsensical pleasure his human half felt at Jim’s concern for his well being... in the rare treat of seeing him dressed so casual. In his night wear he looked soft, vulnerable… more akin to his gentle inner self.  
The worst part of knowing Jim so well, for Spock, was the illogical malcontent that came with having to go without seeing him- be it a short or extended amount of time.  
It was moving and relieving for Spock, knowing that the disappointment that came with being separated was reciprocated.   
  
“I…do regret, I will not be joining you Jim.” He answered honestly, and this caused Jim’s tightened posture to lax, hardened emerald-gold eyes softening. “However, should you wish me to join you for our lunch break…”   
  
“I would. You may be Vulcan, Spock, but you still need to eat.” Jim scolded, making an unintentional (considerably less colourful) dead on impression of Dr. McCoy.  
Spock fought off the dangerous quirking that began at the corners of his mouth.  
  
“Indeed. Enjoy your morning, Jim- I will meet with you on the bridge.”   
  
“Alright, then I’ll just…” Kirk unconsciously let his eyes wander over the curves of Spock’s inviting musculature, drinking it in while the rare opportunity presented itself… the delightful carve and shadow of his abdomen, his jade nipples, the dip of his pale hipbone disappearing teasingly beneath the sheet... meeting Spock’s eyes abruptly, he realized he’d been caught blatantly checking out his second in command. He flushed a lovely shade of vermillion and cleared his throat.  
  
 _Get. The hell. Out of here. Before you say or do something you’ll regret. (Oh, you mean something like- ahh, I don’t know… eye fucking Spock while he’ s watching you?!)_  
  
“Very well Mr. Spock, I suppose I have no choice but to leave you to it. I trust you’ll know what suits you, if anyone. I’ll… see you, on the bridge.”  
  
With that, Jim proceeded to start getting the hell out of there.  
Spock had not anticipated his nakedness would effect Jim this way. Did the Captain not wrestle with other half naked men on a regular basis?  
  
… _They aren’t you._  
  
A shock jettisoned its way throughout Spock’s body, totally unprepared for the simple but strong thought that imposed itself into his mind.  
The thought had been fiercely infused with adoration.  
He had no time to recover, as with that distinctly golden thought still twining with his consciousness, Jim was gone.  
With the closing of the doors, so was the essence of him in Spock’s mind.  
Immediately, his Vulcan half launched an attack.  
  
 _You are so quick to hope for that which is not possible./I am certain, that was Jim’s presence within the confines of my mind…/Impossible. Illogical. James T. Kirk is a human being, a solitary-minded species that are incapable of telepathy./ This is understood. And yet, I indeed felt his thought within my mind, as though it were my very own…/And perhaps that is the simplistic answer to this. You have merely imprinted a suggestion; a fantasy born from your human desires-/I did not. I have felt Jim in my mind before. I am not mistaken…  
/Your human half is head strong, like him. It will certainly be your downfall, if this emotionalism continues._  
  
Within moments of the door sliding closed, Spock was rushing toward the shower, grateful for his lack of clothing. He’d barely stepped under the hot stream before he was seeking out the rock hard evidence of the dream, of the strange encounter, of the undeniable attraction to the man he wished had stayed just a few moments longer.  
He may very well have lost himself to the all consuming urge to touch him.  
  
\---  
  
 _Ahh, God, I **feed**  on unrequited love...  
Hope some folks out there are enjoying this, I shall update as quick as I can, life permitting.  
Until then, well... I'll be seeing you soon, you naughty things. <3  
  
Lyrics:  
  
There's a Place - The Beatles  
  
Sweet Dream - Beyonce_


	5. Where Night and Day Embrace

_To all you TOS fans: I hope you're enjoying the references. ;) Lord knows I've seen those episodes enough to know the journey off by heart._  
  
 _Shall we boldly go?_  
  
\---  
  
  
Bones attempted not to enjoy Jim’s scowl too much, as he covered his grin with a forkful of bacon. He could tell by the slight furrow of Jim’s brow- and his lack of enthusiasm in the face of a meal- that he was unsettled, and feeling a bit moody.  
He was guessing- no, willing to bet his pay- that it had absolutely everything to do with the empty seat next to him.   
Finally, the Captain piped up and proved him right.  
  
“It’s just not like Spock to skip breakfast…”  
  
“Well hell, y’know I’d agree with you on that one. Most important meal of the day!” The Doctor growled around a mouthful of toast. “After the shit show yesterday, he probably wants a little re-coup time. Meditation, and all that Vulcan propriety bull…Jesus, if I had to meditate every time I went over the deep end, I wouldn‘t have a life… that is, if I had one to begin with.” He teased, and this finally broke Jim’s scowl with a small but genuine smile that touched his eyes.  
  
“Can you blame him? It’s a little hard to forget an event like last night.”  
  
“Tell me about it. I’m still weirded the hell out, Jim. They were tasting and sampling our emotions like a God damn Spirits festival. And this is coming from a man with little to no dignity. For an uptight prude like Spock…”  
  
“They embarrassed him terribly…” Jim mused, but his grin gave way to another slight furrow of concern. “I should’ve checked on him, before I retired last night…”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake, you were drunk, and he’s a grown man. Vulcan. Alien… my point being, Spock knew what he was getting into when he enlisted. It’s one of those unsavoury things that comes with his job that he’s just got to deal with… not unlike myself, and those God-forsaken limb scattering transporter beams...”  
  
“This again…” Jim groaned, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Yes, this again!” Bones snarled.  
  
“Really, Doctor, you’d think you’d be over it by now.”  
  
“I’ll  _never_  be over it.” Bones lethal glare stabbed at Jim over the rim of a coffee mug, before he settled it back down and shifted position. He stared at his own hands for a moment, on either side of his tray, before he rapped them anxiously.  
This was a clear indication to the Captain that something blunt and big was going to be coming out of that saucy mouth pretty soon.  
  
“Alright then, spit it out. What is it, Bones.”  
  
“You won’t like it, Jim.”  
  
“Tell me something I don’t know.”  
  
Bones hands clenched into fists, and he tapped them gently on the table out of nervousness.  
He lifted them, suspended a short distance from the surface as he wavered on the edge of uncertainty, hesitating.  
Should he say this?  
In Leonard McCoy‘s opinion, not a chance in hot hell.  
In the Good Doctor’s opinion…  
He sighed, dropping his fists unceremoniously to the table.  
  
“I think it would be wise for you to authorize a psychological exam of your First Officer.”  
  
Hazel eyes blew to the size of saucers in disbelief.  
  
“What?!” Kirk waited for the punch line, but only got a stern, serious gaze in return. He shook his head in protest. “Bones, you can’t be serious. After what he went through yesterday-”  
  
“Yes I am, Captain. And I’m asking this of you on a strictly professional level, so it would do me favours if you’d take that approach to my request accordingly.”  
  
Those expressive eyes muddled over with a myriad of emotion, and Bones could almost hear the steady strain of analytical concerns passing through Jim’s mind- his lightening fast thought processing gift for decision making.  
He looked stricken, torn between affection and professionalism.  
He always looked that way, when it came to hard choices regarding Spock.  
Bones took pity on him (one of the only people in the galaxy he‘d offer such a luxury), lowering his harsh gaze. When it returned, it was considerably softer, more yielding.  
  
“Jim… I know you’re worried after what happened yesterday. D’ya think I’m not? Or are you under the impression that being left alone with Spock for an extended period of time appeals to me, trying to pry into that thick Vulcan skull with a God damn hangover…”  
  
“Today? Shouldn’t we at least give him some time to meditate and recover?”  
  
“Well, you saw him this morning. Tell me what  _you_  think, Jim. He‘s your next in command…”  
  
 _Saw him this morning…_  
Abruptly, Jim was brought back to the memory of Spock half naked, his typically pristine hair dishevelled… beautiful alabaster skin, pulled taut across hard muscled abdomen…  
 _Nope. Not helping.  
_ He swallowed heavily, trying to maintain an outward appearance of calm as he wrestled down a barrage of arousal.  
  
“I… honestly Bones, I don’t know what to think.”  
  
A poor save at  _best_.  
He didn’t know what to say, either, after that image returned to him.  
All he knew was, he was starting to get a little hot and bothered in front of Bones, and that was fucking humiliating. Thank God the Doctor was only a great analyzer, not a mind reader…(though sometimes he felt he was willing to bet money on that possibility.)  
  
“That makes both of us. Yesterday was confusing as all hell, and it couldn’t have been easy for him. For once in my life, I actually felt pity for that walking computer you like to call a best friend.”  
  
“He’s  _your_  best friend, too.”  
  
“Shh! Not so loud there, Jim. Folks might hear you.”  
  
They exchanged bemused glances before they cackled noisily, attracting glances from others dining.  
  
“You’re a professional bastard, Bones. Anyone ever tell you that?”  
  
“More than you‘d dare to dream. And I’m happy to be of service. The more jobs you throw my way Captain, the better my pay. But that still doesn’t answer why Spock isn’t here.”  
  
“Am I safe in assuming that you miss his company, Doctor?”  
  
“Like a rash.” Leonard smirked, his striking pale blue eyes glittering with mischief. “But really now, Jim. D’ya think it would do more harm than help if I go ahead and check him over mentally? I don’t know what sort of effect that circus show yesterday might have had on a Vulcan…”  
  
“Well what do you know,  _Plum_. You do care. That or you‘re just digging for a reason to get Spock alone with you…” Kirk raised his eyebrows in devious speculation.  
  
“Aw  _hell_!” Bones jerked in horror at the mental image that produced, dropping a piece of egg from his fork back to his plate. He slapped the fork down, jabbing a finger in Jim’s smug face. “Now how‘s about you shut it up over there before I get turned off my God damn  **breakfast**!” At the terse voice and stricken expression on his friends face, Kirk let out a bark of entertained laughter. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph…I’m a doctor, Jim.” The Good Doctor bristled, shuddering with a disturbed grimace at the idea of ‘alone time’ with Spock- knowing full well what it meant in Jims books. “Not a pervert.”  
  
“Oh?” The Captain was grinning madly now, shifting from his lax position in the chair to an interested lean forward. “I was under the impression they were one and the same.”  
  
Already giving in and warming up in the presence of Jim’s full out beam (after all, he’d been trying to cheer Jim up since he had met up with him before breakfast), the Doctor’s scowl reluctantly twisted upwards in an attempt not to laugh himself. His icy blues drifted up to meet Jim’s gaze, before tossing him a playful wink.  
  
“Depends on who’s lucky enough to end up alone with this Good old Southern Doctor, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Alright. I’ll give you  _that_. But you still haven’t admitted it, Bones.”  
  
“And what, dear Captain, have I failed to admit to you? Jesus knows nothing  _else_  has been kept under wraps during this conversation…”  
  
“Then you’ll have no trouble admitting it. You’re worried about Spock.”  
  
Bones took a swig of coffee, avoiding Jim’s comment and his eyes, which were positively dancing with glee. He then lowered his mug with a half smirk plastered across his face, and folded his arms stubbornly.  
  
“Never in all the years God gave me, Jim. But, I do stand by what I said. I think it’d be wise for you to order a psychological examination- you know what a stubborn sunnovabitch he can be. If he needs help, he won‘t come looking for it.”  
  
“Oh, I’m quite aware Doctor. That’s what worries me most about this idea of yours. But one thing I can’t argue is the logic behind your suggestion.”  
  
“There’s that God, damn, word again…”  
  
“I’ll… speak to him this evening.” He decided, standing with his tray. Pausing, he made a great show over tossing the doctor a pointed look. “That is, in regards to your non-existent concern. Satisfied?”  
  
“That’s all I wanted to hear.” The Good Doctor offered up a boyish side smirk as he lifted his empty tray from the table, then gave his Captain a friendly clap on the shoulder.  
“See you in the transporter room… the day is young. There’s still room to get into all kinds of ugly or crazy…”  
  
“And we will, it’s only a matter of time…”  
  
“Aliens, self proclaimed gods, transporter beams and everything in between. I’ll never figure out what in hot hell shorted out in my mind to cause me to enlist in Starfleet.” Bones grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. Jim grinned good naturedly at that, as the comment was a daily reminder to him how truly human his Doctor- and in turn, he himself- really were.  
  
“Well whoever’s fault it is, Doctor, they did it for my benefit. Someone out there cared enough about my sanity to put you here. So you can go ahead and feel free to blame me for this whenever you like.”  
  
Wide, cornfield blue eyes seemed to soften from their usual icy intensity, warmed by the comment. Bones flustered, looking away embarrassedly as color began rising to his face in reaction to how the comment moved him. The Doctor was always terrible at taking compliments, and he waved a bashful hand in dismissal to shake off the elated feeling in his chest.  
He loved Jim, he loved Spock.  
And Lord knows they were well beyond aware of that.  
He just had a cranky bastard image to maintain.  
  
“Yeah, well…don’t go gettin’ too soft on me, now. You’re the only family I’ve got, Jim. You and that pointy eared bastard. Jesus knows you need someone around every hour of the day to patch the likes of you up when you get neck deep in shit. I sleep better knowin’ that someone is me.”   
  
“Pfft. When you actually sleep at all, that is…”  
  
“Oh, and Jim!” Bones turned around before he exited the room, clasping his hands together with a pleasant smile- which made Jim feel slightly worried. The Captain smiled, nodding his head in acknowledgement.  
  
“Something else I can do for you Doctor?”  
  
“Why yes, yes there is, now that you mention it. If you ever …  _ever_ , call me Plum again, there’s a special hypo full of Klingon STD in my desk drawer with the name James T Kirk on it.”  
  
A wide eyed, straight faced look between the two.  
Jim was the first to break it with a brilliant, heart warming beam- its addictive quality encouraging one to match it from the Doctor.  
  
“…well I love you too, Leonard. But you don‘t need to shout about it in front of all these crewmen.”  
\---  
  
 _The morning ends, I think about you  
I talk to friends, I think about you…  
And do they know, it’s like I’m losing my mind?  
_  
\---  
  
Jim hastily changed into his formal wear, more anxious to get into it than ever before.  
The reason being, his next stop would be Spock’s quarters.  
He knew it wasn’t sensible, his strange craving to see him.  
He had seen him moments ago on the bridge, had ordered him to his quarters to put on his blue formal wear in preparation for seeing the Impudeit Ambassador away.  
Spock had acted as he would have during any of the previous days aboard the Enterprise.  
But Jim was no fool.  
He felt, more than observed, the difference in his old friend.  
He knew it was a well cultivated act.  
Not only had Spock skipped breakfast, but he had eaten his lunch on the bridge.  
That bothered Jim so much, and his own displeasure disturbed him.  
Most prominent being the fact that he felt the emptiness that Spock’s absence left, never realized the food wasn’t as enjoyable, the time off wasn’t as cherished if it wasn’t spent with Spock.  
He felt foolish, embarrassed- like a school girl fawning over someone.  
Or was this how it always had been, and he hadn’t noticed it adequately until he had to go without?  
Who knew two dinners without Spock could put such a damper on his mood…  
Although with his dear friend the Doctor he appeared casual and mocking- even aloof and indifferent, it was a guise.  
Truth be told, Jim was evading not only Bones, but himself.  
He was concerned about Spock.  
A little too much.  
It was what brought him to his 1st Officer’s quarters unexpectedly, still in his night wear earlier that morning.  
When the Vulcan later declined their usual meal together for what he credited as work purposes, it solidified Jim’s worries.  
Maybe last night had been harder on Spock than he’d bothered to realize.  
He shouldn’t have made him stay the whole dinner.  
Bones had only lay kindling on the fears he had already mulled over.  
What if the Impudeits ability had indeed alienated or damaged Spock in some way?  
What had that meant to Spock, having his oft ignored emotions read and acknowledged?  
Surely, it had been an immense breach of privacy and comfort to an individual who denied the existence of their emotions since day one…  
Bones only confirmed his fears by sharing them.  
He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was the aliens had picked up, what they sensed from his Vulcan First Officer.  
In a way, he envied the Impudeits unique gift.  
Unlike himself, they knew Spock’s feelings, his mood.   
They could venture where he so desperately wanted to go, but was incapable of doing so.  
They knew how to read his emotions as easily as one would go about completing a paint by numbers.  
And yes, in some small way, he envied them for that.  
At the same time, he was thankful he would never be put in a situation like that with Spock.  
If there was one thing he couldn’t stand to lose in this galaxy, it was Spock’s trust in him.  
  
\---  
  
The hardest part of the day was nearly over.   
With his shift steadily coming to a close, Spock was both anticipating and dreading the end of this walk through the corridors.  
Himself, Jim and Scotty would be seeing away the last of the Impudeit guests personally, with the Ambassador and her private guard being the remainder left to transport.  
Spock absently watched the muscles of Jim’s back, taut and moving beneath his gold command shirt as he strutted ever so slightly ahead. They were silently closing in on the transporter room.  
Just that once-over alone was enough to signal to Spock just how tense his Captain was.  
He knew exactly why.  
Jim had been itching to talk to him since he showed up on the bridge.  
They’d been unable to take lunch together, as there were some adjustments being made to the sensors on Spock’s post that he refused to let follow through without his trained eagle eyes surveying the progress.  
He was sharply aware of how the lives of the crew ( _of Jim_ ) could sometimes depend heavily on the readings being produced by the ships sensors; it was adamant the equipment readings be as close to perfection as possible.   
Jim frowned heavily upon him missing lunch, as he did with any member of his crew that had decided to over-work themselves.  
But beyond the menial, Spock knew there was more to it than that- plenty laying dormant and unsaid.  
Bones had been eyeing him too, which was a clear and obvious mannerism often displayed by humans who had discussed an absent party.  
He had roughly estimated that the likelihood of himself being the subject of discussion was about 83.97941 percent.  
How unfortunate.  
He didn’t want to have  **that** talk, not with the Doctor, and especially not with Jim.  
He’d learned earlier this morning, being in a close proximity to Jim wasn’t helping his cause in any way shape or form.  
His meditation had resulted in little more than a basic state of calm, on the exterior.  
Inside, his mind, his two halves were involved in all out anarchy.  
There was no control inside, not after all that was- or was not- said the night before.  
These dreams had gone quite beyond innocent enough to dismiss as fantasy.  
There was something strange, a storm of sorts brewing… something that was out of his hands, perhaps. And that disturbed Spock more than anything else, to be in such a vulnerable state as it was, helpless.   
It was not very often the gifted, quick thinking hands belonging to the Enterprise’s First Officer held something that was beyond their skill.  
He was only beginning to see the tip of the iceberg, being hit with the reality of what all this might amount to.  
He didn’t know… and when a Vulcan doesn’t know something, it is quite akin to torture.  
One of the facts he knew confidently was that it was all coming up soon. He could feel something  _giving_ , a revelation steadily approaching.  
Fast.  
If Bones could feel it coming, Jim probably already knew, maybe even said something to tip him off.  
Spock was also certain of another fact; one that both enticed and terrified him.  
Jim wanted to see him alone.  
He hadn’t said it outright, hadn’t even inclined toward an invitation to talk.  
But Spock had felt his eyes perusing him on the bridge, could feel the tension blanketing his skin like static.   
 _All that was said the night before, and yet never spoken at all…  
_  
“Greetings, Ambassador!” Jim’s voice snapped Spock out of his reverie, as he was greeted by the view of the Impudeits. They stood with hands clasped before them; lithe, pristine and sleek in appearance.  
Instantly, Spock was reminded of his own posture, his outward appearance.  
Startlingly after that realization, he became glaringly conscious of his mental projections- the unintentional self-expose of his emotions.  
After yesterday, he could not afford to expose himself like that again…   
 _So vulnerable, so free of mind and tongue…/So reckless. So human. So unlike a Vulcan…  
_ To continue down the path he had yesterday, he would no longer be able to call himself a Vulcan.  
He would be a human, laced with Vulcan blood.  
 _My father…A Vulcan. Logical, calm, centered…/Cold. Yet my mother is a human. A warm, beautiful human of earth…like Jim…/That is sufficient. The human side of you has been adequately pampered. Now you must center, draw from within… control…  
_ The perfect, elegant forms of the alien creatures demanded a dignity, a reverence of sorts.  
Control was mandatory here.  
There was no emotion his outside appearance could mask that they would not be able to sense blatantly.  
 _Control…_  
The Ambassador held out her hands in greeting to Kirk, taking his in a warm clasp.  
  
“Salutations, Captain Kirk…” Her eyes briefly caressed Jim’s before they slid toward the Vulcan at his side. Her alien eyes were smiling in that dangerous manner again that Spock recognized; mischievous, as though retaining a decadent secret.  
It was in those brief, horrific heartbeats of time that Spock’s cunningly deductive mind whittled down to the conclusion almost instantly; why he could sense her mood almost as soon as he had stepped into the room.  
The Ambassador had shared the room opposite his own.  
Surely, with her heightened senses…  
All that he had felt the night before, so intensely… the fear, the passion…  
Could she possibly be aware?  
Spock’s eyes widened minutely, missed by all but her.  
  
“And First Officer Spock…” A beautiful, coy smile from the Ambassador. “I trust you slept well?”   
  
A raised, slanted brow; behind Spock there was an odd exchanged look between the Captain and Scotty.  
(At the very least, the Engineer was completely in the dark…)  
Before anyone had time to question, the Ambassador carried on, as though the comment was expected and fleeting.  
  
“There are no words that we are aware of within the human dialect that could adequately describe our gratitude for your trust, your hospitality, and your understanding with us throughout the duration of our stay. You are a brave, and loyal race- we are proud to declare ourselves friends of yours, friends of your federation- and soon to be members of your federation of planets. I trust our next meeting will be equally pleasant. Yourself and your crew would be more than welcome to beam down to our home planet upon our next visit… your Scientists would appreciate an opportunity to collect new data on our unique array of native species…”  
  
“Indeed, the invitation would not be unwelcome. I find myself intrigued by the prospect of an exploratory mission upon your planets surface.” Spock met eyes with Kirk, his dark gaze revealing a flicker of enthused curiosity there. “Imagine the specimens to study there, Jim. Creatures that our kind are yet to have ever seen before…” He glanced back over at the Ambassador, folding his arms. “Perhaps a study of the rare foliage would prove to be beneficial…I would find the opportunity enlightening.”   
  
“Oh, there is a great enthusiasm upon our planet for the cultivation and study of plant life! Many horticulturalists…”  
  
Unfortunately, that was about as much plant talk as James T. Kirk could stand without either tuning out, or finding a comfortable surface nearby.   
He’d never actually had much of a history with plants, really.  
He did attract a great deal of explosions, though...  
  
“Jim? The Ambassador’s belongings have been successfully beamed onto the Impudeit ship.”  
  
“Aye, Captain. That makes the lot of ’em, save fer the Ambassador and her head of security. She’s good and prepared for the next transport.”  
  
“Very well Mr. Scott, a fine job as per usual… Ambassador, the pleasure has been mine. I look forward to our next opportunity to enjoy each other’s company. It’s certainly been eye opening… quite entertaining, and immensely pleasant.”  
  
“Your pleasure at this encounter mirrors my own. I have met members of the fabled mankind; you are the first of man I have met, and you paint a promising picture of the culture from which you originate. Mr. Spock, if you would escort me to my platform…”  
  
Spock walked with the slim figure to the landing pad, briefly informing her to adjust her position prior to beaming. As he turned to rejoin Jim beside Scotty behind the transporter controls, J’emovere clasped Spock’s wrist with the gentlest of pressure.  
It was enough to still him, tilting his head back to look upon her in curiosity.   
  
“If you would give me pause… I want to thank you for your patience especially, my Vulcan friend. You have been most pliant with our ways, regardless of how contrary they are to that of your own culture. However, it seems we have both benefited from our unusual encounter, have we not?”  
  
Those words were enough to raise every eyebrow in the room.  
Jim took a few small strides forward, eyes narrowing in the tiniest gesture of confusion.  
  
“Spock?” At the Vulcan’s increasingly arched brow, and the Ambassadors strange, attractive smile, Jim grew weary. He felt as though there was something he’d missed- something that was leaving him out of the loop. He didn‘t like that; not with the particularly large doses of strangeness he’d been faced with over the past couple of weeks.   
  
“Spock, what’s this about?”  
  
The Ambassador turned to acknowledge the puzzled human with a soft, sympathetic smile.  
  
“I apologize for the strangeness Captain, there is time later to explain; creatures of our kind do not experience the difficulties you must bear, as we are rarely alone within the contents of our thoughts. I would only ask to take this last moment before departure to extend my congratulations… Mr. Spock?”  
  
As Jim looked upon Spock with what distinctly looked like a growing expression of accusation, the First Officer appeared as out of synch with what was going on as Kirk was. The elegant brows furrowed, no trace of understanding being worn on the intelligent looking features.  
  
“Pardon me, Ambassador. I… confess, I am at a loss as to which occasion you are referencing.”  
  
For the first time, her expression faltered.  
She looked from Jim back to the raven haired officer before her, temporarily at a loss.  
  
“Surely, you are merely being humorous? Have you not informed your shipmates of such a happy occasion?”   
  
“If I may, Ambassador…” Spock’s fingertips, upon the prompting of J’emovere, came to rest on the meld points of her slim, lovely face. Instantly, he was submerged in a swirling vortex of darkness; then a cascading wash of light charging through him, around him… he felt her presence, bold and invigorating within him as he joined their minds…  
  
 _I do not understand your confusion. Have you not consummated the beginning together… the telepathic thread of a life bond with James? Are you not indeed bonded of the mind? Is there still some foolish shame in you for this, or do you dare attempt to falsify emotion to an Impudeit?_    
  
Stark, whirling horror.  
Spock was barely able to pull his mind back from reeling to coherently form four words.  
It was as much as he could offer in his uncharacteristic mental stupor.  
This couldn’t be happening…  
  
 _It was a dream…  
  
Surely, Mr. Spock, you do not believe I am so naïve an individual... Surely, you must know that within dream, there are no conscious, cognitive thoughts? It was my understanding that you went to him, or he went to you… that you initiated a bond with your Captain. The scent of your passion was undeniable… do you still yet torture yourself, and hold him at arms length?  
_  
His attempt to withhold his emotions had been in vain.  
She knew everything.  
She had experienced the potency of his emotions, summoned by the Jim of his sleeping mind.  
 _No, no, oh no, **no** …  
_The uncertainty, the confusion… the ecstasy.  
She had felt all he had felt the night before, yet she had drawn the wrong conclusion.  
She had assumed that Jim had found his way to him last night; both body and mind…  
  
“Mr. Spock… are you alright?”  
  
Jim’s voice sounded distant, but the concern there was strong.   
He wanted to help.  
He could do nothing but watch; wondering what was being exchanged in the turbulent silence. The arm Spock had branched between to connect himself with the Ambassador began to tremble slightly.  
  
“Answer me!” Jim ordered, his own nervousness concealed behind his authoritative tone.  
  
“Captain…” Scotty said hesitantly, his startled eyes scrutinizing the bizarre scene on the platform before them. He put his hand out to grasp Jim, but the Captain took his arm back and stepped closer stubbornly- waiting to see if Spock might need his assistance. Kirk opened his mouth to speak again but quickly silenced himself, surprised by his 1st Officer’s quivering arm abruptly whipping back from the Ambassador.  
It was as if he had been burned.  
His face seemed paler than usual, and his eyes never left J’emoveres, as though through them, they were still communicating.  
She was watching Spock with wide, sad eyes.  
She reached out to him as one might try to console a frightened animal, looking tainted with regret.  
  
“Oh my friend, do not leave us. Please, do not torture yourself…” She pleaded with him, sensing his apprehension, his desire to flee.  
Which he then turned sharply on his heels, his rigid back presenting itself to her, and did just that.  
He moved gracefully but exquisitely swiftly, brushing past Jim and Scotty in a hurried glide.  
He left them no opportunity to get any words out before the door to the transporter room parted, then came to a quick close with a familiar hiss.  
Everyone in the room was dead silent, yet the air was screaming.  
The Ambassador was overwhelmed by intense human emotion. A sharp jolt of alarm, a throbbing worry… crushing despair.  
Her eyes instantly fell onto the Captain, who was paralyzed to the spot, expressionless, jaw locked.  
He could not hide the power- the fury of his emotion from her, though his body language was one hell of a poker face.  
She looked to Jim imploringly, begging, her face coloured with a vibrant lavender.  
  
“Captain, my apologies for this strangeness, I know it must be difficult for creatures of the solitary mind. You should go to him.  _Please_.”   
  
“Forgive me Ambassador- I am responsible for every man and woman aboard this ship…”  
  
“Aye, and that includes dramatic Vulcans. See to it, Captain- I’m more than capable of seein’ teh the lovely lass & our guests here.”   
  
The Captain exchanged a look with the finest engineer to grace a starship, a glance of gratitude with a nod of assurance.  
There were mere heartbeats, between the time that Spock passed through the doors, and the time Jim went chasing after him.  
  
\---  
  
 _How to keep people at arms length and never get to close  
How to mistrust the ones you supposedly love the most  
How to pretend you’re fine and don’t need help from anyone…_  
  
\---  
  
“Spock… Spock!” Jim’s voice carried down the long stretch of corridor, raising eyebrows and turning the heads of crewmen passing by.   
He hadn’t meant to cause a scene, but Jim was a little too good at doing that, whether he meant to or not. Besides, being Captain automatically put an individual at the forefront of the curiosities of the crew.   
Typically, Jim was very conscious of this.  
Right now, he couldn’t remember to spare the thought to care.  
Because something bad was happening that he didn’t understand, involving the leader of a planet they had only recently made first contact with.  
All revolving around Spock, who was upset.  
Very, very upset.  
  
“Spock.  _Stop_.”  
  
“Computer-”  
  
“I can override.” Jim threatened, already half way through the door anyway. His now solid posture indicated that any attempts to see him back through it would be in futility.  
Spock had sought out his quarters as the very means of escape from this conversation.  
Now, thanks to his human side and its quick, rash thinking, he was trapped with this conversation.  
“I know you’re upset, but it isn’t me you’re angry with. Now I,  _want_ , answers.” Jim jabbed a pointer finger into the palm of his other hand. Spock watched this sharp gesture as he struggled to think straight in the slight panicked haze that usually set in when Jim was upset with him. In the disarray of his mind, he wondered absently what the relevance of that action was. There was one thing he knew for certain, it was one of Jim’s ways of telling him that he’d shifted into impatient, no-nonsense Captain mode. “And I want them now …do you understand Mr. Spock?”  
  
“Quite clearly, Captain. I would hardly label my current disposition as one of anger- that is a human emotion.”  
  
“Then what  _was_  that?” Jim flung his hand in the direction he’d just arrived from. “Stop running circles around what I ask you. What did she do to you, Spock?”  
  
Jim was close now, his intensity radiating like pure heat.  
Those eyes were seeking, desperate…  
They would not take no for an answer.  
He was so near, Spock could smell the subtle yet alluring scent that was distinctly Jim.  
It was all proving to be too much.   
His control was obliterated.   
His ability to think calmly and rationally was dysfunctional; muddled by the chaos of the situation in the transporter room, of the dreams, of Jim being so close to him that he could practically taste him…  
He felt his own nails biting into his palms, fists clenched in white knuckled vices.  
How could he answer, when Kirk’s presence was working its usual enchantment?   
It was utterly amazing, the strength and confidence one man could display in his mere stance.   
Even being taller, stronger than the proud looking man before him- in no way did it ever make Spock feel as though he were a match for Kirk.  
He’d met his match in Jim- and although many men had found their ‘match’ in James T. Kirk, it certainly held no relation to the way Kirk’s  _enemies_  had felt about him.  
No, it was a different breed of surrender.   
A submission, without the feeling of being defeated or forced.  
Willing…  
Either way, Kirk would not be refused.  
  
“Spock… I’m asking you this as a friend. Don’t force me to turn this into an order.”  
  
“It was… a misunderstanding… forgive me, Jim- my control…”  
  
Jim lay his hands on him, grasping his forearms in a soft grip.  
  
“Spock. What kind of misunderstanding? You’re disoriented…because you melded with her, one of the Impudeits?”  
  
Spock’s hands somehow found Jim‘s shoulders. He was turning his face from those eyes, wordless in this inner storm of human emotion, Vulcan restraint…   
  
“Speak to me.  _Make_  me understand. Let me help…”  
  
In that moment, he felt the buzz of Jim’s emotions come alive through their contact.  
He felt certain he was going to go down with this ship- he was going to drown, was going to lose to this feeling.  
He felt as helpless as he had as a child when the other cruel children of Vulcan would taunt him, tease him… and he could only stand there, saying nothing, accepting the shame when the human in him raged, pride injured, anxious to defend his terran blood…  
His Vulcan pride versus his human needs.  
 _Let me help…_  
He wanted to scream.  
Instead, he removed himself from Jim’s grip.  
He turned his back to him curtly, in a frantic effort to save himself from doing something they‘d surely both regret later.  
He whipped through the complex and real numbers of matrices, in a desperate attempt to steady and focus his concentration.  
It could not happen like this.  
He couldn’t tell Jim all he’d been withholding for years, all that he desired but denied himself… couldn’t burden him with such madness in the middle of a diplomatic situation.  
He had already been the source of several predicaments during the stay of the Impudeits.  
His condition could damage Jim‘s reputation, his command.  
He could not allow his human emotion to jeopardize this mission, for the sake of this ship- for Jim.  
It couldn’t happen like this…  
  
“Spock… after everything that’s happened, can you honestly tell me I haven’t earned your confidence?”  
  
He felt the cool wave of sadness permeating the air- a disappointment that seldom radiated from the vibrant man behind him.  
He was hurting Jim.  
He closed his eyes tight against the white hot grief that caused him, forcing himself to center and stay grounded, if only temporarily.  
He needed some small, shaky table of control to work upon if Jim was going to leave this room his own person, and not Spock’s.  
It was taking every ounce of restraint the Vulcan had whittled not to turn and fully submit himself to the affection, the comfort that waited behind him.  
He knew if he did, things might irreparably change.  
As First Officer, he would not dare to have such a luxury.  
The stakes were too high.  
He could not allow it.  
  
 _Could not…_  
  
When he turned back and took in the raw suffering that was dominating Jim’s expression, he came frighteningly close to changing his mind.  
  
“Jim… you are one of the small number of individuals in the galaxy that I place my trust within. You must know and understand this. It is… difficult, for me to speak freely of these matters… it is not within my nature…”  
  
“It is when you’re with me.” Lion gold eyes were unwaveringly determined, yet they maintained a softness… a warmth. “If something has happened… if you’ve been injured…”  
  
It was hard for Spock to keep up the façade of being calm while his insides were being thrown into tumultuous chaos. The Vulcan side of him demanded control that did not exist.   
He had come so close… so close, to  _claiming_  Jim…  
If only he could meditate, just briefly enough to stabilize himself…  
  
“Not injured, Jim. It was the fault of neither party. Merely situational, but unfortunate nonetheless. Last night the Ambassador simply… intruded, albeit unintentionally…”  
  
“Intruded? What was she doing in your room? Spock, you never reported this, you never even told me this morning-” Jim took a step forward, closing the gap again. His face was now strained with the confusion, the disturbing ideas that the human mind could so quickly conjure before fact or reason…  
  
“You misunderstand, Jim. As I stated previously, it was quite unintentional… physically, she did not intrude. The Ambassador was not within my quarters this night past. Mentally, she could not help but become aware of all that I was… experiencing, in the room adjacent hers. It was a case of misconstrued ideas, originating from-”  
  
“All that you were experiencing? So you’re telling me, she felt what you felt, and drew her own conclusions? Wrong conclusions?”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“But conclusions… what conclusions? I’m… Spock, she congratulated you for something, and you fled the room. In all the years I’ve known you… of all the aggressive, ignorant individuals we’ve dealt with, I’ve never seen any of them upset you like that. Now you’re telling me it was just a simple misunderstanding?”  
  
“There is nothing simple about the meeting of two minds, Jim. Especially in this rare situation we have found ourselves in. Two entirely different species, both telepaths, making contact with one another for the first time-”  
  
“You’re right.” Jim submitted, his shoulders lowering ever so minutely. “You’re right, but I’m…”  
  
“You are dissatisfied.”   
  
“Positively, Mr. Spock.”  
  
“If I may… you are dissatisfied, yet only as a human. However, as a Captain, you are now assured that the risk to your ship has been eliminated.”  
  
“Has it? What about the risk to you? What has all this cost you, Spock?   
  
“Above all else, a great deal of privacy… and dignity. I must ask for forgiveness before I make a request, Jim-”  
  
“I hate it when you do that…”  
  
“-but I must ask this of you with a level of professionalism that you must accept. I am aware that it will come with great difficulty to you.”   
  
Just looking at Jim physically react to those words told Spock he already knew what was coming.  
His eyes were already pleading against what was yet unsaid, begging them far out of this room.  
  
“Spock…”  
  
“I ask that you leave me. Allow me time to meditate, to bring order to my thoughts and level my control. After which point you may submit whatever inquiries you deem necessary. I require you to grant me this- and I do not ask this as a friend, but as a Vulcan member of your crew. I am entitled to this.”  
  
Jim wanted to turn from him, couldn’t bear to.  
Not when the thing he wanted most was to stay here, and the Vulcan knew it well.  
It made Spock ache, and burn.  
He wanted him there, too much.  
It was precisely why he could not remain… Spock did not know what he might find himself doing next, but with Jim standing there so close to him, he didn‘t have many doubts on what might happen.  
  
“Jim, please…you must be aware that I would not ask something of you that I did not deem urgent, or necessary.” His voice was a low rumble, like the misleading calm before a furious storm. “You must.”  
  
Jim watched him, exploring for a long while, teetering on the edge of what he desired to do, and what he knew he must do.  
Did not want to have to do this, but was left with no other option.  
Spock was blatantly not alright.  
And if he refused Jim’s help, he’d have to accept Jim’s control.  
A hot human sigh, a vent of frustration, and Jim swept a hand back over his gold curls.  
  
“You always force me to make the hardest choices, Spock. You  _know_  I won‘t very well deny you of what you require as a Vulcan…”  
  
Jim’s hands fell to his sides, a small inclination of defeat.  
  
“Alright. I will grant you this grace period for what you describe as desperately needed meditation time. As the only Vulcan member of my crew, I am responsible for granting you this- and I won’t deny you a priority. Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, you will report to Dr. McCoy’s office at 0500 hours. I will hear no further discussion on the matter. You,  **will**  be there for the evaluation, punctually- that’s an order. I’m… sorry, Spock.”  
  
Although reading the expressionless face Spock was wearing, one would assume indifference… but Jim hadn’t missed the way his dark eyes had clouded with defiance.   
 _So the truth comes out.  
_ It was as Spock had feared… Bones was well aware, and Jim, even more so.  
His control… what was left of it… trying not to think too hard about what was to come of it all, of himself and Jim…  
  
“I need my First Officer. And I need to rest easy at night. I won’t until I find out what‘s happening to you, and am certain that you’re in no need of assistance.” A pause, as that unarguable gold-jade gaze challenged him to object. “If you won’t… I will.”   
  
It was over.  
For now.  
The beautiful, golden warmth that was Jim…  
Gone, behind the silent hiss of the cold metal door.  
  
  
\---  
  
 _I dim the lights, and think about you  
Spend sleepless nights to think about you…_  
  
\---  
  
The blackness of his quarters hadn’t changed or varied in any way since he had begun staring endlessly into it a few hours ago, lying in bed.  
Finally, he was starting to feel truly tired… almost too tired to feel the slap of regret that still stung even now, which came after watching Jim walk with a heavy heart through his door and leave.  
  
 _It is illogical to regret.  
Kaiidth. What is, is…  
_  
His dark, satanic eyes flickered over to capture the digits of time by his bedside, almost wanton.  
He tried his best not to experience dread.  
In a few meagre hours, he would have to accept defeat.  
He would have no choice but to prepare himself for the day, head down to sickbay, and face the consequences that came with passing through those doors.  
Dr. McCoy would be merciless…  
  
 _What is, is.  
_  
Spock knew Jim had meant well by ordering the visit to sickbay.  
If anything, it told him how concerned about his well being his Captain was. Furthermore, a little good behaviour was past due with all the trouble he’d been causing.  
Their strange mental connection certainly hadn’t come about with Jim to blame, as the Captain was no telepath.  
The rather dramatic encounter in the transporter room wasn’t Jim’s design, either.  
Nor had Jim been attracted to the prospect of leaving him alone in his quarters earlier, which he himself insisted that Kirk do promptly…  
He had almost immediately ( _had not, it is human to-_ ) regretted that decision.  
While he was pondering on it, he knew it must have hurt Jim’s feelings to get shot down not once, but twice in one day to dine together.  
It was not logical for him to feel hurt, but it was definitely Jim.  
He had grown aware over time that it wasn’t the eating, but the down time together that Kirk craved. He too found himself looking forward to taking his meals with the Captain, as Jim’s mood was prone to elevating when they did.   
Guiltily, his eyes drifted back to the clock once more.  
His Vulcan half grew weary, as odd ideas and desires began taking form in his mind.  
  
 _Speaking with him would only escalate matters._  
  
The human in him was not ready to accept that the day was lost, when it most certainly was indeed.   
The truth ultimately was, he had succeeded in not only pushing Jim away today, but also soiling his mood in every aspect of it as well.  
  
 _If only I could muster the ability within myself to go to him…/It is late, and Jim will be asleep…  
_  
Ruefully, he turned over and buried himself within the warm cocoon of his blankets- unsatisfied, but unable to rectify the issue.  
Absently, the human side of him got one last whisper in before he faded into the sweet bliss of slumber:  
  
 _Time is irrelevant. I would be welcome to Jim, regardless of the numerical arrangements that appear on that clock._    
  
\---  
 _I want to hold you, and be so held back  
Don’t want to need you, but it’s where I’m at  
Thinking about you every day…  
How come I was made that way?  
It’s so surreal…_  
  
\---  
 _Sweet dream_  
\---  
  
“Spock…”   
  
He did not look, though he did desire it.   
He could not.  
Though he longed to do so, there was a part of him that adamantly refused.  
Illogically, a flare of resentment arose- yes, even anger- at the cruelty of his Vulcan blood.  
  
 _Is it truly the whispers of Vulcan within myself that I loathe, or the terran blood locked in combat with it?/The blood of my mother…of Jim’s world./Which you were not raised upon. You were raised upon the red sands, and the strict teachings of Vulcan. Your fathers world…_  
  
“Spock. Please, don’t do this.”  
  
The gentlest of touches, a soft trace of fingertip there, starting from the pointed tip of his ear and curving downward in a comforting caress…   
This simple touch, and his mind was blanked- enveloped in Jim’s unabashed thoughts.  
His concern, his warmth, his comfort… so brilliantly gold, alive within Spock‘s mind.  
Fitting so easily, perfectly…  
Flawless compatibility, trust, affection…  
The touch was still there, resting there…lovingly, though it was an odd human inclination to apply that word to a physical touch. Yet it was so correct, so accurately Jim.  
And Spock had come to notice and accept that yes, sometimes the way Jim lay his hands upon him was loving.  
Now, without words, Jim was asking to be let in. And how would he refuse that man any further? What part left in him held any defiance toward Jim?  
His most stubborn… his green blood.  
But its power was small, so small here.  
Here, desire conquered practicality…  
  
“If you won‘t speak to me, let me in.”  
  
A feather touch, there at the edge of his consciousness; so familiar, so warm.  
Like home.  
  
 _Jim…  
T’hy’la.  
_  
His mind did not deny Jim’s presence, guided it easily, as it was not quite stable. Although it would have been all too easy to keep Jim out, he had not the power to deny such a comforting presence in his thoughts. In the white squall of combat that his mind often reduced to, Jim was and had been his life raft many times in the past- giving him just enough peace of mind, always, to come through whole again. Their essences merged wholly now, the shields dissolving in their entirety along with Spock’s will to resist.  
Finally, he let them intertwine wholly; coming into full mental contact with one another, and viewing their inner incarnations for the first time.  
It was like night and day exchanging a secret embrace. It was strange, foreign to a human… overwhelmingly blissful.  
It was rare for a human being to ever know the pure, fathomless joy of joining with the mind of another.  
Alone, always so alone in mind…  
The experience of meeting another mind after solitary confinement was one that words could bring no justice to.  
Jim had no idea up until this point that the mind held an essence similar and yet quite different to the physical outside appearance of the body.  
  
 _Spock… you look so beautiful here, so soft and dark… I know this might sound strange, but there’s a light, a gentle light in the darkness there… your appearance is like dawn, on our home planet. Do you understand what I mean?  
  
The darkness is what you might understand as my passive and quiescent nature. The light defines my content of character. If one should live a dishonest or embittered life, there is no light to be held within.   
  
Your light is so mild…  
  
Have you known me to be boisterously expressive?  
  
May I touch you here? …what do you see when you look at me, Spock?  
_  
 _The sun. You always have been, within and outside.  
  
Is this how you see yourself? Is this how you’ve always seen me?  
  
No, Jim. This is the first time I have truly seen and understood what these forms represent… this is our life essence, your katra and my own … as humans have come to know them, our souls. They are our true selves; they are the selves that live within. When the body withers, these remain…_  
  
Jim’s strong reaction to the words curled in wisps of visible emotion, bright surprise, striking realization… the human was momentarily stunned, the weight of that knowledge temporarily silencing the curious buzzing of his mind.  
When his inner voice returned, it was so gentle and awed.  
  
 _So it is, **true**  then.   
There  **is**  more, after death…  
_  
 _In fewer or more words, yes...  
Though it is not so simple as many believe. But yes, Jim. There is more, beyond the body._  
  
There were no words for this kind of bliss; to feel another there, comforting in the mind, which was quite often the scariest of places that a human dared to venture.   
To finally have another in the battlefield of his mind… to never feel alone, isolated anymore.  
Never isolated from Spock, but always connected, touching…  
Not even the physical could bring such a gratification such as this.  
The beauty…  
Gold extended out, grasping for and twining about the warmth of the muted dawn presence opposite it.  
  
 _Spock… why does that happen when I touch you? It’s as if your… essence was lying dormant, and suddenly it wakes up…_  
  
True to Jim’s observation, the light within Spock seemed to enflame and expand, quick like dry leaves rapidly igniting a small spark of flame. Jim withdrew, momentarily surprised by the strong surging of emotion it evoked. More tentative than before, he caressed Spock’s essence again.   
It began to illuminate, as stars might appear once a cloudburst rolled out of their view to expose a brilliant canopy of light.   
  
 _It is my essence, when it is very near, or merged with your own. I have felt this before, though you may never have known it until this time. The increase of light suggests the katra has uncovered a sense of purpose. It is enlivened by my own emotion, when it is met with yours._  
  
Jim observed, mesmerized, how the bright star like forms curled and twined elegantly with the golden rays of his essence; like the mating of night sky and daylight.  
  
 _…You mean, your self worth?_  
  
 _Precisely, Jim. That is one of many parts affected by this meeting. There is a great part of me that exists to ensure your safety, and happiness. I have not always been aware of that fact, but it is undeniable now. Apart from you, I am a benign existence- self preservation is logical, but it is not a desire. With you, there is desire. I am driven to protect- I am motivated to thrive and exist, for as long as I do, there exists a being to ’put you back together’, as the Good Doctor would likely supply. My essence delights in your presence, as it gives it purpose. Do you find this… strange?  
…Jim?…_  
  
A brilliant tendril, like silk string diamond, had emerged from their continued joining. It was dazzling, different- quite unlike either of the lights that were unique to them apart. There was something new, something invigoratingly fresh, and untouched… promising and pure about it. Captivated, Jim’s essence reached for the delicate looking strand.  
  
 _My God, Spock… it’s so beautiful. What is?-  
  
Jim!! Do not…_  
  
The tendril withdrew violently, as though startled, and Spock was no longer a part of him. Jim was the sun, and there went Spock in the blink of an eye, further and further from him still… he was mild and subdued, a faint starlight behind cloud…  
  
Abruptly, Jim found himself back in his body… had he ever left it?  
And there was Spock’s back, ramrod straight, denying him physical access.  
After what he had just felt, he could not be denied like this any longer.  
He clenched his fists, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life, and the power of that loneliness had reduced him to tears.  
He hadn’t known what he had expected, if he thought they would have left their bodies behind and stayed there, if they would have returned to their bodies with the imprint of each other still lingering...  
But whatever might have come, he hadn’t wanted to have to leave that wholeness behind… the perfection of them fitting together. The joining and unexpected compatibility of their minds had been overwhelming; electric and staggering.  
Above all else, it had felt  _right_.  
It was just as Jim had wanted.  
It was just as Spock had feared.   
  
“Spock. Speak to me, please. You spoke to me in there…” A gentle fingertip, against his temple, and their connection sparked a plea in response. The touch withdrew, and Spock craved its reappearance. His Vulcan half remained muted, a spectator, waiting… disapproving. “…Can’t you even face me here?”  
  
The words shocked through him, the weight of them heavy as the guilt settled on his insides.  
They cemented there, and he knew in all the years he had to come, he would not forget this moment in its ugly clarity.  
For how spare indeed were the moments that he would not look his beloved friend in the eye.  
As spare as the moments that Jim would take no for an answer. As he was so skilled and accustomed to doing, Jim took action. He strode before Spock, who was frozen where he sat, screaming to express, yearning as he never could in harsh reality.  
Could not.  
It was not his humanity, playing a part in this cold silence.  
Not to this man.  
It mattered not, for what happened next would not be in his control.  
Jim took command.  
He made an effort that reminded Spock of one of the many reasons why he loved him.  
Jim would  **not**  quit.   
Would not accept defeat, regardless of his odds.  
No, you could not turn away James T Kirk; only turn him aside.  
Spock had from day one admired- and later loved strongly- his determination, among many parts. His unwavering determination was awe inspiring, and had bested some of the greatest minds in the galaxy. It was never to be taken lightly, as it near surpassed even Spock’s own fortune of it.  
When Jim crouched to meet the dark gaze, his lion’s gold and thistle eyes combated with physical evidence of his emotion.  
There was great emotion in him, but there was no trace of shame, nor was there embarrassment.  
And that stunned Spock; it impressed and thrilled him.  
The level of trust Jim had in him was dizzying sometimes; undeniably flattering.  
  
 _To flatter? Is that not a human gesture? And to possess a sensation of flattery… is that not blatant human emotion?/To ignore a human is what they consider to be one of their greatest forms of torture, and punishment. To ignore Jim…  
_  
 **No**.  
He didn’t want to not speak to this man.  
Again, he was torn between Vulcan demand and human desire.  
T’Pau’s voice returned to him from one of the darkest days of his past…  
  
 _Are thee Vulcan? Or human?_    
  
He still did not have the answer.  
  
 _My friend… my beautiful, beautiful friend. You have only ever been Spock in my eyes. Not human, not Vulcan. Just **Spock**_ ; _the best of both our worlds. Can’t that be enough for the both of us?  
_  
Fading, dimming, and he knew he was waking up.   
Before he left that place, he saw Jim come forward, anxious to hold him there… the cool, refreshing press of Jim’s full lips on his…   
  
He woke up, as if being slammed back into a foreign body.  
He still felt the faintest touch upon his lips… they were lingeringly cool, tingling from the ghost of a mouth on his.  
Slightly lower than his body temperature.  
There was no room for denial.  
No more lying to himself about it anymore.  
All was so painfully clear, any further dismissal would be the act of a true fool.  
  
His greatest of all nightmares was one that he did not have the luxury of waking from.  
  
He had indeed, following the incident that had played out after visiting Planet Holberg 917-G, unintentionally established a mind link with Jim on account of their unbelievable mental compatibility.  
More disturbing a discovery than that, Jim did not possess the telepathic gifts to protect himself, to shield his mind from imposed thoughts, impressions, emotions…  
  
 _You have truly let your human half run a foolhardy, reckless rampage. Such a scenario would have been eliminated, within the confines of the Vulcan Science Academy./The Vulcan Science academy does not possess the U.S.S Enterprise… nor does a destiny there intertwine with that of James T Kirk./When did it become so, that all of the aspirations in your long life became merged with the life and future of that human? Do you not realize you have imposed yourself into a mind that can offer no defence against your ideas? To the greatest extent of your knowledge, you may very well have permanently altered James T. Kirk._  
  
His insides felt cold, so stark… dead, cold.  
For nothing chills to the bone like a truth.  
J’|Emovere had indeed been correct- and he had known this, yet he had found himself unwilling up until this point to accept it as a fact.  
Accepting it made it reality.  
He had, without permission, without honouring the Vulcan way by remaining within his species, begun establishing a bond.  
With a human man.  
His human Captain.  
  
\---  
  
 _Finally.  
Fi, na, lly!  
I get to stir this baby up!   
It took a while, but like all great things that take a long labour of love such as turkey dinner, if you do it right, it pays off, baby. ;)   
I apologize for the slow boil- I know it seems that it took a long time to actually get to the action of this story, but I have known these characters for the better part of my life- though I find them quite decadent, I respect them.  
I know Kirk & Spock, how their duties almost always took priority over pleasure- even when they so desperately wanted the pleasure.  
They are the best Starfleet has to offer, and there's a damn good reason for that. Still... there is human in both of them, and every human craves the other piece to complete them- in the most illogical ways possible, of course.  
For any newbies happening upon K/S, I want my story to establish the rare and mind blowingly close relationship they shared, as well as seasoning its start into something more with that utterly delightful sexual tension from TOS.  
And I MEAN, sexual tension.  
My God... they should have called it the U.S.S Blue Balls.  
That is all! Until next time, you naughty space explorers..._


	6. Ch 6: Forty Seven Times, Seven Minutes

_I'm back with a fury! :) I apologize for the length of time this chapter took- it is a very, very important one to this story, and it's quite a doozy. So get cozy! I put a heaping lot of love into this- wrote it, edited it, proof read it, proof read it again, and again, and again... I hope it satisfies the action lovers, and some questions about when this took place (and how) during the 5 year mission. Don't worry, you kinky little perverts, I know you're hiding out there- your time is coming in this story, too. ;)_  
  
  
  
\---  
 _You call me in the night  
And hide behind the daylight  
And blowing like the wind, you don’t let me see…  
You know I feel the pain  
I’m tired of playing games with you  
But there’s nothing else I know that will set me free…  
You know I need you, you know I love you  
If I’m not with you I’m not so much of a man  
I’m like a fish on the sand.  
  
-George Harrison  
_\---  
  
  
  
One of the earliest things that Spock clearly recalled Leonard Horatio McCoy saying to him in the first few weeks they served together was as follows (hand gestures not included):  
  
“You know Spock, being a smart ass has  _gotta_  have its down days.”  
  
On that day, he had promptly responded in a crisp, factual fashion:  
  
“A remarkable statement, Doctor, as you are yet to provide substantial evidence of that alleged fact.”  
  
He reflected on it now, in the face of the taunting words coming to life. Spock had always been quick to mentally scoff the Good Doctors statement in the days, weeks, years that followed… up until the reality of the here, the now.  
  
He had figured out much, concerning the staggering level of emotion Jim evoked in him. It was as a result of the compatibility his Captain’s mind bore with his own. Well, that was one example of an… unsettling, but minor issue in contrast to the other in the forefront. The fact that he had proceeded to unintentionally establish a mink link with Jim as the foundation for a permanent life bond partner?  
  
 _Oh, Surak and all the descendants who followed him into the afterlife, help me…  
_  
He was starting to come to the conclusion (much akin to the Galileo 7 incident) that logically, this was the perfect juncture to begin panicking. Because this was bad. This was beyond-  
  
 _Control. **Focus**.   
Dr. McCoy ordered meditation, and it must be obeyed in order to return to duty.  
_  
He had been fortunate in one small, minor respect.  
Having ample time to meditate the night prior, he had finally succeeded in harnessing the greatest wealth of his Vulcan control and mental shields in preparation for what promised to be an excruciating, thorough examination.   
  
His trip to sickbay had revealed little more than a slightly elevated blood pressure and higher than typical stress levels. This had been absolutely disgruntling for the Doctor, but a relief for him. He was quite aware of the fact that Dr. McCoy did not believe for a moment that he was alright- only temporarily ‘our of the red’, as he had put it. (Give or take a few colourful metaphors.) Unsatisfied, but with no truly upsetting results from his grumbling, poking and prodding, the Good Doctor had wearily given him a clear bill of health- aside from the suspicious stress levels he exhibited.  
  
Fortunately, there was a clever excuse to fall back on to explain said anxiety.  
Spock was thankful in some small, ironic way for the humiliating events that he had gone through in the presence of the Impudeits. If he hadn’t gone through such embarrassing ordeals, he would have a hard time finding another excuse for the stress he was battling with- especially seeing McCoy was in ‘Mother Hen’ mode, and was desperately seeking a reason to run and tell Jim that there was distinctly cause for worry.  
  
He didn’t exactly revel in the idea of having to tell McCoy he was feeling stressed about wanting to claim his best friend as a life partner. He was sure that information might very well drive the poor Doctor into a Brandy binge he would never come crawling sans pants from again. So, scowling as though someone had dropped a flaming bag of shit in front of his office door that morning, Bones had approached him with hands clasped behind his back tightly…  
  
“Alright, Spock. You’re off the hook, for now. All that damn meditation Jim let you off with last night robbed whatever my scanners would have picked up from your episode in the transporter room, but I’m warning you  **right** now. I’ve got my eye on you, and I’ve been sniffing out bullshit since you stepped through that door today.”  
  
“Highly insulting even by human standards, Doctor.”  
  
“Shut up, and let me finish.” Bones demanded, eyes fierce as he stuck a finger in the Vulcan’s expressionless face.   
  
 _Fascinating. Another trait McCoy seems to share with Jim…/Must all humans invade ones personal space with their hands to stress the importance of their words?/It would appear so…  
_  
“You might be able to wriggle your way outta Jim‘s grip, but you’ll have to use every Vulcan card trick you have up your sleeve to get one more by me from here on in. Because if Jim is worried, then I’m shit baked. Understand? And I can’t take the stress. So for the love of Jesus, make it easy on me, and don’t make me drag you by your God damned pointed ears every time you need to be here. Got it?”   
  
“As difficult as it is to decipher a meaning from your illogical human ranting, especially as I have no desire to attain the affection of your deity, I believe you have exceeded yourself in firmly delivering your warning. May I remind you that this scheduled appointment has now delayed my time on the bridge, and I will surely have a wealth of information to familiarize myself with in lieu of that fact. Will that be all that you require of me, Doctor?”  
  
“No, it sure as hell isn’t! You’re still not out of the clear. Even Vulcans can’t assist in running a Starship with a heavy mind like yours. You’re stressed, Spock. Quite notably stressed, compared to the last time I had to hog tie you down for an examination. After all that hoop-la with the Impudeits, I don’t blame you- especially seeing you won’t even sit down long enough to have a drink with me, and take the edge off. So consider yourself off duty this morning to meditate-”  
  
“Surely I am fit for duty, Doctor. I have exceeded performance expectations repeatedly under stressful conditions during red alert status aboard the Enterprise-”  
  
“-because time didn’t allow room for anything else. Now, we’re currently dropping off supplies to a federation planet, Spock. I’m sure a task that simple can be handled under the supervision of another qualified Science Officer aboard! Because when the shit hits the fan and we end up in a crisis- and we will, I give it until supper time- the Captain is going to need his First Officer. And he’s going to need him functioning at top efficiency. Now are you going to stand here wasting _both_  of our time in arguing with me, or are you going to get a head start on lighting all those God damn reeking candles in your room and actually relax for the first and last time this decade?” And without giving Spock time to even formulate a reply, the mumbling Doctor spun on his heels and stomped over to check the readings over a patients bed.   
  
This was a clear indication to Spock that the discussion was more than over; he’d lost. Sighing internally, dreading having to sit and think about all that weighed heavily on his mind, Spock silently walked toward the exit to sickbay, catching a few of McCoy’s mutterings on his way out:  
  
“My God, man… I mean I wish someone would come the hell in here to bludgeon and drag me back to my quarters for an afternoon off…I don‘t even remember what the inside of my quarters look like anymore, I sleep on that fuckin’ couch in my office so much…”   
  
Well, Bones had gotten what he wanted in some small way.  
Spock was sitting straight backed on the floor, surrounded by candles, submerged internally. He was trying to harness his thoughts, but the idea came more readily than the action. He had not had trouble focussing like this since he was a child, and it was growing more frequent- as if the past few weeks had been no indication.  
  
It still made him uncomfortable to miss any shift, to know there was someone up there at his station, responsible for keeping a sharp eye on sensor readings and potential threats.  
There were indeed more than enough qualified personnel aboard…  
  
But they were not him, and they certainly did not possess the unique bond he solely shared with his Captain. They could not look at Jim, wordlessly taking in his expression, and simply understand what he needed done. They would need to be asked, and even in the time  _that_  took, it could be valuable moments before something-  
  
 _You are allowing your human half to run amok again, S‘chn T‘gai Spock. Kaiidth. **Kaiidth**! What is will be. You will not be on the bridge this morning, nor this afternoon. Undesirable, but nonetheless a fact in this circumstance. Therefore the only logical conclusion is to meditate, as ordered by Doctor McCoy- who will then clear you for duty once balance is achieved. Only then may you return to your station on the bridge this evening._    
  
The truth was plain and clear, and now he was prepared to accept it.  
As much as he’d prefer it, there would be no work for him to delve into and lose himself in this morning. He had to face what was happening to himself somehow, find an ultimatum that served every party involved accordingly… if not for himself, then for the safety of this crew.  
  
 _For Jim.  
_  
He adjusted his position on the floor, rigid by human standards, relaxed by Vulcan.  
He peeled away at the layers of his own anxieties until he arrived at the core; the very root of the problem he was in. He had mind linked to Jim, unintentionally, and now he was in this predicament that he did not know how to deal with. That is, not immediately. Being a man of logic and science, he went through the motions that came as naturally as breathing to him.  
  
 _The root of the problem has been located and verified- and within every pressing issue lies a birth place- a means that allowed the problem to take place, and from there gestate. Where is its true point of origin? You must first thrust yourself into the past, to lay a steady foundation of understanding to face the now; the future…_  
  
He let himself fall backward, into the meticulously detailed masterpiece that was his whittled Vulcan art of remembrance…  
  
  
  
 _Jim was teasing him again. He was sure of it now, and it was most illogical to tease a Vulcan. Yet Jim seemed to enjoy engaging in said activities frequently- it was becoming quite clear that it was even growing into one of his favourite pass times.  
At first, Spock had seen it as a human annoyance- perhaps Jim was, as most were prone to doing, picking on him for one reason or another.  
  
Finally, in the face of it at yet another juncture in his life, he decided to confront the issue. He was quiet. He was mild mannered. But it would be a foolish, regrettable assumption for anyone, to let those traits be mistaken as weaknessess in Spock.  
This, was his  **job**.  
And if Mr. Spock had one point of pride within his green blood, it was the fact that he was well beyond damn good at his job. He hadn’t stopped talking to his father due to this choice of career- and worked his ass off for it - so that some wise cracking, cocky pretty boy could make another spectacle of him. So it was more than well beyond the time for him to make sure that his place here was respected. Ironically, it was Jim’s own continual display of courage that ignited the same within Spock himself.  
  
“Has it occurred to you that there is a certain… inefficiency, in constantly questioning me on things that you have already made up your mind about?”  
  
Jim didn’t just grin at his challenge. He positively sparkled with glee and pleasure at it.  
His eyes were so brilliant, warm- so unlike an expression anyone before Jim had ever directed at Spock alone.  
  
“It gives me emotional security…”  
  
Jim continued to smile at him,  **that**  way, his eyes never wandering. And something that had always lay dormant and unhappy within the Vulcan had sparked to life, and prompted him to smile ever so slightly back… His Vulcan half had frozen with astonishment, and concern. For the first time in years, his human half had been so moved, it had more than stirred.  
It had been rendered breathless...  
_  
  
  
No, it was certainly much further… much further ahead than that…  
  
  
  
 _He was watching Jim standing beside McCoy, investigating thorns from a bizarre plant that had taken the lives of one of Jim’s men on this strange new planet…  
The Captain was beyond perturbed- disrupted as he always was, by the loss of any life; especially those he was responsible for.  
  
“I’m the man who is responsible for bringing them back home  **alive** , Spock. Do you have any idea how it feels, when I… have to go back there …look at their families? I can’t look at those faces…but I have to.”   
  
His Vulcan half revolted at the very human shudder that quietly snaked up his spine at the remembrance; the all too human words his Captain had confided in him the year prior. Many had been lost, during the first year. Jim had felt every single one of them; still did. How vulnerable he could be, when they were alone.  
Sometimes when playing chess, or other times when Jim would be fretting, standing before Spock and pacing the floor with hands clasping; akin to a tense lion sensing that crackle in the air before a violent storm.   
_  
 _There were those times when they were alone, and Jim was worse than scared; he was feeling guilty. Responsible for young lives lost, and he would need to know it again from someone he trusted- that he was **not**  a monster. He was the Captain of a vessel, utterly ridden with cold duties, but he was also a good person. And when Jim didn’t believe that, Spock unwaveringly did. Perhaps it was why Jim always came to him.  
  
Jim would be despairing, and Spock had never dealt with human grief- had never meant to, had never wanted to- had feared it secretly, as he trained to live amongst them in Starfleet.  
  
The idea of being bombarded with human emotion had intimidated Spock more than the great black unknown he would be living in for the 5 year mission.  
  
But it was never so, with Jim.  
  
He did not know how to help… but oh, how he  **longed**  to. How simple but comforting a thing, to be allowed to swipe the furrow from his golden brow with a fingertip...  
_  
 _Whatever he could offer, Jim just needed the closest person in his world, in whatever means possible. He would need to be reminded that he was a human man. Allowed to bear flaws; and how strange it was, that this man would seek that emotional refuge in the only alien amongst his own kind…  
  
Spock lifted his tricorder to himself, seeing nothing as his sharp memory took hold of an evening such as that.  
  
Standing close, so close to Jim- who would draw near in his most tense, most passionate… most desperate of moments. How small Jim would look, when they stood chest to chest. He would look down upon that golden face, never truly feeling the height difference until they were close like this…   
And Jim’s eyes were near enough for him to find the cry of help within, never actually asking for it. But Spock knew he‘d be damned if he didn‘t find an answer to whatever impossibility they were faced with, when James T. Kirk looked at him like that.  
  
They always found an answer, together, to get whatever they needed.  
Whenever he truly realized he was looking down at Jim, not overwhelmed by the intensity of the mans presence, they would brush together casually, fleetingly.  
And he got a sense every time.   
  
We are meant to be this different from one another.  
I want us to stay that way… I love it about us.  
  
He always felt as though he were meant to protect this man. He could never have imagined receiving his trust so limitlessly; that Jim would take risks that others would never dream of, based on his word. And he would, in return, use every ounce of logic and deduction that his trained years had given him;  
he would see Jim through the thrilling, the frightening, the madness of a life out  **here** …  
_  
 _“Some of the thorns like those that killed Hendorff. See the stuff on the ends? Like saplin only it’s a thousand times stronger…”  
  
“Peculiar stuff, to find in paradise…”  
  
And absently looking past Kirk and Bones who stood further off to the right of him, he saw it.  
  
The  **fear**.  
  
Oh, the panic that pillaged his mind, as the poison tipped flower swung its lethal face toward Jim- his green wrap, his intense gaze not acknowledging the danger…  
  
  
“ **JIM**!”  
  
Spock hadn’t realized in his frantic haste to act, that he had shoved Jim out of the way.  
He was now at the mercy of the threat himself. It never truly sunk in until he felt the stab of the barbs in his chest, the roiling illness that quickly ravaged his body- a reaction to the poison, and it caused his eyes to roll back in his head…  
He had been so, so desperate to rescue Jim, he’d forgotten about self-preservation. As his consciousness ebbed, and Jim barked out his name aghast and fled to his side, he held on to the last thoughts he might ever have. So he would die, then, rather than see it happening to Jim.  
  
Most, illogical… yet gratifying.  
  
“Spock…” Softer than before, scared- which was a rare emotion to hear prominently in Jim Kirk’s voice. As the edges of his vision blackened, he felt more than saw Jim drop to his knees beside him. He felt the strong grip of Jim’s hands on him, and through that, the overwhelming flood of tumultuous emotion that came with it.  
  
Don’t you dare die on me, Spock. Oh God, don’t you dare die on me here…  
  
How alluringly beautiful Jim could remain, even frightened… And as the curtain closed on his waking mind, he realized. For one of the first times in his life, Spock had forgotten logic completely- in fact, he had utterly abandoned it.  
For Jim.   
  
For Jim…  
_  
  
  
 ** _Focus_** …  
  
The Vulcan within was stern, tugging the reigns as Spock was now undeniably ( _not, Vulcans do not particiate in_ ) daydreaming instead of facing the task at hand. His ability to read Jim’s thoughts without contact had really only frequently appeared over the past month or two. Resisting the urge to relish in more, Spock began whipping through memories until he was struck with a strong recollection.  
  
 _Of course._  
  
He had contemplated it the night before, preparing for McCoy‘s torture chamber… The strange, heightened connection to Jim seemed to have begun shortly after the incident on Planet Holberg 17, in the Omega system.  
  
 _Flint… Rayna.  
_  
The passionate encounters Jim had with the android woman Rayna were ones that Spock had borne witness to. He had watched her brilliant creator Flint seethe and marinate in his own jealousy over their interactions. He had been appalled to discover a touch of it inside himself; he could not deny his own muted envy… but it was not for possession of the affections of the girl.  
  
It was the hurt of knowing; she was an android, a machine, nothing more. And Jim knew it not. He watched how Kirk would hold her, look at her, the bare, unchained desire there.  
For a few stolen moments of terror, Spock had honestly feared that Jim would abandon them all for this mechanical woman.   
  
It was a fleeting idea that his human half ebbed on, whenever Jim would veer from standard procedure- one that his Vulcan half was quick to dismiss and extinguish.  
If it were anyone else, Spock would believe it capable of them. But he could never accept that Jim would do that to the ship ( _to me_ ). Could never fully dedicate himself to the possibility of being abandoned by his Captain. And Jim never did, however deeply he may have thought upon it.  
  
Later, Spock watched the man he held above all else get turned inside out with his own emotion. It was what he feared most about the human blood within himself… never knowing when it would bring him down in a torrent of feeling. He watched Jim all but battle to the death for the love of a machine, when he deserved so much more than that.   
  
He knew that Jim was worth far greater, worth so much that it nearly drove Spock to madness in the quiet and dark of many restless nights… maybe there was nobody out there that would fit, that was good enough for James T Kirk. Nobody to feed the cravings. The never ending hunger he bore to feel loved, accepted and cherished. The insatiable sexual appetite. To be understood thoroughly as the unique, intelligent, complex man that he was. The bottomless well of patience one would require, to share him with his silver goddess the Enterprise…   
  
He felt the irony, how oft occurring it was that Dr. McCoy would dub him a machine, and yet he found himself mangled inside because he wasn’t. He wasn’t a machine, and this foolish thing that Jim fought tooth and nail for was nothing more than one. And the  _ **pain**_ , oh the pain was rooted so deep, for he was well aware that he could offer so much more to Jim. He could please him in ways that he himself was sometimes too abashed to imagine. He was capable of holding a greater wealth and depth of affection for the man than that machine could ever  _dare_  to try.  
  
And yet the years would pass by, he would remain silent, and his bed remained agonizingly empty at night. So alone… such utter, all-consuming aloneness.  
He would be forced to watch these foolish, trivial and fleeting things fill Jim‘s bed on a regular basis. He watched them gain in a night, all that he’d wanted for years. Just to be on the receiving end of a stroking, lingering touch of the face like that, to be the one under the heat of that come-hither gaze that Jim had whittled into a mastery. And although his Vulcan half would be quick to deny the shameful truth, it tore away at him from the inside out…  
  
 _It mattered not. It was a short lived event._  
  
For in the pattern of the women that had come before, who seemed to enter and fit nicely into Jim’s world, she was quick to leave it… leave him barren. That was what ached most; the pain afterward for Kirk, and watching him grieve it out however he could. With the latest outsider no longer standing in his space beside Jim, he could never help breathing that sigh of relief as he stepped back into the vacant spot. There was no logic to the sensation, but it always felt like coming home. He would discover himself to be thankful that at least for yet another day, they belonged to one another by the end of it.  
And the closer he was, the further he could keep Jim from harm, or help him to heal.  
The others that came and went would leave his Captain’s side achingly unoccupied, and Spock would always be there to fill it. Sometimes he fooled himself into believing:   
  
 _This is where I belong./Until the next candidate…_  
  
He should have known to expect it, but Rayna ended up no differently than the others. She was gone, already forming into a piece of the past. And again, like a tradition… then there were two.  
  
The two of them had ended up walking side by side through the corridors of the Enterprise, looking for a place to escape curious eyes. They had arrived back from the landing party, lucky to be alive, shaken to be so. Jim was reeling with grief, and he would not want his crew to rest their eyes on him like this. She had died, and they had returned to the ship, not speaking- Jim absolutely grim, Spock filled with melancholy.  
  
The Vulcan had given Jim a moment of solace in his quarters as he checked in on the bridge, respecting the human need to be alone and mourn for a time. But he returned, never leaving Jim to bask in his own sorrows for too long. When he headed back into the room, he felt the mood on the air. They were alone, quiet and sombre together in Jim’s quarters. Not talking yet, just feeling…  
  
  
  
 _He had arrived back to Jim’s quarters with the news that the ship was safe and in order, as he knew little else would bring comfort to his Captain’s heart at this time.  
But it was not the reason he was standing in Jim’s quarters at that moment, for if he so desired, he could have communicated this information easily via the com.  
He had entered the room without asking, had invited himself into Jim’s room, knowing he would be welcome there. Being a man of privacy, Spock never intruded upon one’s private moments for the sake of exchanging something like ship stats.  
  
The Captain knew as well as he did that he was here as a concerned friend, not a dutiful co-worker. This was probably why the next words out of Jim’s mouth were entirely non ship related. He knew very well what Spock was there for, and he was grateful just to have him near.   
  
“A very old…and lonely man… and a young, and lonely man. We put on a pretty poor show, didn’t we? …if only I could forget…”  
  
Jim’s head sunk, seeking out the comfort of his desk. He couldn’t look at Spock for the grief and embarrassment he felt; how stupid he had acted on the planet. How foolish he must have been, in the Vulcan’s eyes…  
  
How Spock hated to see him so broken; so unlike himself. Jim now sat at his desk, hands clasped together, head bowed into them. Hiding his face. And in Spock’s eyes, he truly was a young, lonely man. He had never felt so capable of relation to a human before- so completely in tune to how Jim was feeling at that moment. For he, too, was a young, lonely man… consistently under the restraining direction of a firm, cold Vulcan.  
  
It was very few and far between, the moments when he had to see Jim like this.  
So utterly desolate. It never hurt any less each time…  
  
Abruptly, the doors to Jim’s quarters flew open again, and Spock’s eyes widened at the intrusion- as if it were not something he himself had done mere moments ago.  
  
“Jim…” McCoy’s voice arrived with him, and when Spock heard the Doctor walk in, his hand instantly extended in a warning: be gentle. McCoy misinterpreted it as a plea of silence. “Oh…” He rumbled quietly, observing. “Thank heavens. Sleeping at last…”  
  
Though they exchanged what was necessary of them through their on ship duties, both of them seemed more focussed on the untouched issue that was much louder in the room.  
Bones seemed to mirror the Vulcans thoughts as his gaze sullenly flickered from Kirk’s crumpled, despairing form to Spock’s rigid posture. His look changed.  
  
“You wouldn’t understand that, would you Spock?” The Doctor stated rather than asked, folding his arms before himself as he eyed his rival with his ice blue unwavering gaze. He never offered Spock the opportunity to answer before he carried on.  
“You see… I feel sorrier for you, than I do for him.” Bones declared in his blunt manner, eliciting the slightest widening of his sparring partners eyes.  
“Because you’ll never know the things that love can drive a man to do.  
The ecstasies…The miseries…  
The broken rules, the desperate chances…  
The glorious failures, the glorious victories.  
All of these things you’ll never know.  
Simply because the word love isn‘t written into your book…”  
  
They exchanged a long look, one that teetered on the edge of the unsaid, and what could not be withheld. Then… “Goodnight, Spock.”  
  
A hard, straight poker face from the pale and ebony alien.  
  
“Goodnight, Doctor.”  
  
McCoy took one last helpless, dismal glance at the golden form hunched over the table.  
  
“…I do wish that he could forget her.”  
  
With the silent hiss of the door, McCoy was gone, and Spock found himself alone with Jim again. Spock’s eyes had already fallen upon him, his slumped shoulders. He was aware that Kirk was most certainly not slumbering- had been awake mere heartbeats before McCoy had stepped into the room. Kirk had heard the whole conversation, yet he remained unchanged. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? He then turned his head completely, now obvious about his staring. He wanted…  
  
 **No**.  
  
His Vulcan half reprimanded, demanded against what he was planning to do.  
  
No. You must not and will not interfere. This is human emotion. It is not your understanding, not your place…/I am half human. And I understand that I possess the means to help by utilizing my Vulcan capabilities-/A Vulcan mind meld is an extremely private act, to be consented by both parties…  
_  
 _He stopped listening to both voices inside himself, and instead followed what **felt** right. And at that moment, he  **felt** that Jim needed him. He could not stand by, and merely watch this. He needed to help. Needed to be let in…  
  
And something invited him in. Something beckoned him forward, silent. He paused beside Jim, looking down intently now, waiting for any sign of hesitance… For a rejection that never came. Cautious, gentle, he allowed his fingertips to delicately land on Jim’s meld points. He brushed the surface of Jim’s consciousness, lightly at first…tentative.  
  
May I?  
  
…Spock…   
  
So you are awake then, Jim.  
  
I heard everything. Are you alright?  
  
You are in agony, and yet it is I you concern yourself with…  
  
I was just thinking the same thing about you. Spock… McCoy, he doesn’t-  
  
Do not. I understand Doctor McCoy, almost as well as yourself. He is not at fault.   
  
It’s just that you keep the human side of you locked up so tight, sometimes even I find it hard to see… McCoy forgets that it’s in there sometimes.  
  
That is not my concern at the moment. My concern is with your well being. Will you allow my presence within?  
  
Always, my friend…  
  
Spock breathed deeply, readying for the unknown, and plunged deep into all that James T Kirk had ever been. He was welcomed into the chaos, and oh, it was such  **chaos** …  
Human thoughts and memories mingled almost entirely with dreams and fantasies, barely holding an existence separate of one another; quite unlike the organized tidiness of a Vulcan mind. The worst of it was the hurting; so much lonely hurt. The pain, brittle and raw pain… Another hopeful, lost. Another brilliant light in this universe gone out, and he was responsible for its loss…  
  
Jim,  **please** …  
_  
 _“Forget.”  
  
And Rayna was a dull throb, a wound that was now being cleaned and sewn by Spock‘s deft and precise skills… yet his Captain ached on. For the experience had torn open a long festering wound within Kirk, a wound so old and deep set, it had never truly repaired itself with time. Embedded in scar tissue, issuing sharp pangs of reminder that this… this, was nothing new. This was just another person slipping him by who could have completed him, could have made him happy, but never would. And the last time would never come.  
  
He was so jaded, by love gained, love lost… love never good enough, never there long enough, not strong enough to fill the void. It would never end, such a vicious cycle…  
Nobody dedicated enough, nobody able to get near enough while he commanded this vessel. Nobody could have a destiny so akin to his own, one that would allow for this blissful life he led to be completely rounded, full.  
  
His command without love, or love without command…  
And he always had to choose the loneliness, with his silver goddess.  
  
  
…I, too, am a prisoner of my profession.  
  
  
He had not meant it to, but that thought was now as clear within Jim’s mind as it constantly was within his own.   
  
Spock… you feel this way?  
  
If you demand such honesty from me. Yes, Jim. I, too, am solitary as long as I remain here on this vessel. To do that which I am destined… my duties. But I am not alone. Never truly alone, for you have seen all with me. You know all I require, as I you. I will never feel utterly desolate, if our existence here is shared. There is… a certain serenity, a peace that settles over my thoughts in the knowledge that when I return here, I shall return here with you. Though I have thus far failed to yield the logic in such a knowledge…  
  
You’re right… I never considered it to be that way before, but you’re right. When I… came back here and I sat in this room alone, I felt… just drained, Spock. so emptied. But there was a comfort in knowing that you’d be here, sooner or later…  
  
I will always be here for you, Jim. As long as time and circumstances allow it, I will be here for you.   
  
You always have been. Spock… you’re always the last person standing beside me, when everyone else walks out. If I didn’t have you here…  
  
I confess that I too have contemplated the Enterprise, in your absence… it is a thought I do not cherish to dwell upon. A First Officer serves a minimal purpose without their Captain.   
  
Oh don’t be foolish. You know as well as I do. You would be Captain, in my absence. And a damn good one at that.  
  
I am not a Captain, Jim. It is not my destiny. You are my Captain… we should dwell on the idea no longer.  
  
What is it about the idea of Captaincy that you find so vexing? Can you deny that you would be a talented leader?  
  
A dark, cold strand of malcontent issued from the Vulcan mind; so disturbed.  
  
…the idea is a tremendously unattractive concept once one must consider the means in which I would attain the title.  
  
Complete silence from Jim’s mind.  
Then…  
  
Oh. … **Oh**! Right. Yes. I guess I can agree that finding myself dead would be an unpleasant scenario, Mr. Spock, if you want to get morbid about it. But you see I was thinking more along the lines of-  
  
An utterly human -and, upon stating that fact, one would assume it to be an entirely  **impossible** \- scenario?  
  
Actually, that’s… yes, that is exactly what I meant.   
  
Jim… I am where I wish to be. I desire nothing more.  
  
Desire? You  **desire**  that? …that may very well be the first time you’ve let me know you’re capable of such an emotion, Spock.   
_  
 _It is not the first, yet I …I fear that I have been too free with my thoughts. Forgive me.  
  
Don’t you be sorry for that, not in front of me… not when we’re alone. We’re sharing minds, Spock. If you can’t be open with me, who else is there?  
  
There is no one else. Your mind has been the only I feel comfortable within, regardless of its peculiar, purely human qualities.   
_  
 _Well it’s not every day I let someone slip in here with me, either… though it seems like people come and go around us quicker than my command shirts.  
  
Jim felt rather than saw the small, rare smile from the Vulcan sharing his mind.  
  
Though to my own befuddlement, we are yet to have evaded a rather rude and particularly obnoxious, emotionally unstable and foul mouthed Doctor that seems to have taken a fondness to us.  
  
There was a moment when Jim’s mirth threatened to overwhelm Spock’s own muted, solemn thoughts.  
  
Now how could you go and cook up something like that, and me here with no proof that it actually came from you? He’ll never believe me!  
  
He has been faced with many oddities and farfetched conclusions, Jim. Considering all he has endured throughout our mission, I trust he would be pliant in light of all he has been forced to believe.   
  
Or been forced to get the hell out of… damn. How many times have we actually almost  **died**  out here, Spock?  
  
If we are to combine your critical injuries and near death experiences over the course of this mission thus far- which would tally out to 23 separate instances… and couple this with my own, which conclusively equal 24...   
Collectively, we have nearly experienced death on approximately 47 separate occasions in the three years we have served together of our 5 year mission.   
  
Forty. Seven.  **Times**?   
_  
 _That is excluding the innumerable assortment of instances in which we have been held at gunpoint.  
  
What, you don’t consider that a threat anymore?   
  
Sadly, in our profession, being held at gun point has repeatedly proven itself to be a most efficient tool for negotiations, rather than a valid threat to our lives. That is, gauging of course, from our own experiences.   
  
…Forty seven times? Spock, are you sure-  
  
I am always certain, Jim. …in fact it is immensely surprising and nothing short of mystifying, however, that we are still alive. Logically, we should not be by now.  
  
Comforting, as always. Well, we have a saying for that on earth. Survival of the fittest…Isn’t it a little ironic, Spock? No matter what happens to us, we walk out of it. No matter how many people come in and out of our lives, by the end of the day, it’s just the two of us again.   
  
Ourselves, and the chess board you are so fond of referring to as an entity, as opposed to an item…  
  
A warmth passed through the shared minds at the small but poignant piece of familiarity.  
  
Truth be told, with all that’s been said and done… I don’t think I could stand for anything different. Rayna is gone, and I still feel her. But I know, somewhere in here, I’m going to keep on living without her; I can still be the same person I always was, eventually. Yet… if, for some reason, I were to return back here to the ship without you…  
  
A sharp, raw surge of white hot agony surged forth, like an exposed nerve being struck, and the pair realized it arose from both minds.  
  
Spock… do you feel that way too?  
  
That much is obvious, Jim, if you must know. I do not believe I would wish to remain here, if I were to ever return from a mission without you. It is a foolish error, to allow such an attachment to take place. I would never allow it to jeopardize the safety of this ship, and I would see myself take every action within my grasp to return it to safety. I would owe your memory that, and more. But to continue existing on this ship without your presence…  
  
  
I’ve thought about it too.   
  
  
It was a barely a whisper of a thought, steeped in quiet but strong emotion.   
  
  
I’ve thought about it too, Spock.   
  
  
A heat, excitement, soon followed by a coil of resistance arose, stemming from the Vulcan mind.  
  
I must not…Forgive me this weakness, for I am certain it is the human within me…  
  
The human in you?! …Finally, the truth comes out. Not only does your human half exist, but that’s who’s so fond of me in here...  
  
Believe me, Jim. There is no part of me that does not treasure your friendship, or your presence here. If there should ever come a time that I would feel your absence…  
  
I know. …I  **know** , Spock.  
This ship wouldn’t feel the same, not without you.  **I**  wouldn’t.   
  
Nor I, Jim. I have done much exploring of my own planet, and yours… never belonging, always seeking, never finding a place in which I could seek refuge. Never existing in a place that I did not feel an outsider; a spectacle. I have found a home within no other part of this galaxy, none other than the area in which I occupy now. It is you I credit with offering me my first place to belong.  
_  
 _I had no idea… how could I not have known? All this time I thought you could just Vulcan away the loneliness, that it was foolish for me to attach human emotion to a Vulcan officer… All this time you’ve felt the same, and I was too selfish to notice.  
  
You have not been selfish, Jim. You are merely attempting to learn to understand me, a Vulcan, as I grow to understand you as a human.  
  
I’m sorry, Spock. I never realized… I had no idea you felt the same as I do. I would never have thought a Vulcan would have room for sentimentality…  
  
They do not. But I am half human, Jim. And apologies are both unnecessary and illogical. There is, regrettably, emotion within me. It is unfortunately here inside, whether I condone or acknowledge its existence or not.  
  
Why is it you can only admit that in here with me? Why are you so protective of your humanity outside?  
  
Because you are the only being I trust who will not one day use that knowledge against me.  
  
A twinge of pity, of sadness from the Captain at the unveiling of that true but painful fact.  
  
I could never do that. I could never, especially knowing what I know now. It’s… I can’t tell you what a relief it is, to know this feeling is mutual. Come what may, I’m ready for it… I’m certain I can take whatever gets served up, as long as the two of us end up in this room again by the end of the day…   
  
There was a moment when the warmth of Jim’s thoughts became near blinding in their luminosity. They were so pure, a vibrant epiphany. It caused such a tapestry of euphoria between the two minds, touched a place within Spock fiercely, as Jim shared his new revelation.  
  
  
Spock… my God.  
We’re home to each other.  
  
  
And Jim had reached for him then, unstable and fragile with his hands, with his mind- needing comfort. How could Spock find it in himself to refuse him? Refusing Jim was refusing the only home he’d ever had. He did not want to…  
  
_  
  
\---  
  
  
  
 _He stared at the face of Janice Lester, wearing a chillingly akin look to the one Jim wore when he was desperate.  
This woman expected him to believe she was actually Kirk, trapped in a woman’s body.   
She stood, eyes burning with his golden intensity, and spoke.  
  
“Spock…” She moved closer, expression dire. “When I was caught in the inter-space of the Tholian sector, you risked your life… and the  **Enterprise** … to get me back. Help me get back  **now**.” Taking in Spock’s unwavering expression, she ploughed on. “When the Vians of Minara demanded that we let Bones die, we didn’t permit it.”  
  
Spock nodded in acknowledgement.  
_  
 _“That is true. The Captain, did not. However, those events have been recorded… they could have become known to you.”  
  
With an overwhelmed look, she turned from Spock abruptly. Recovering. Searching,  **so** desperate…  
  
When she turned back, she was wearing a look Spock recognized… a determination he’d seen many times before in his life aboard the Enterprise, on another face. Yet here it was, showing in her eyes. A pause, a stance, a gaze so strong.  
_  
 _“You are closer to the Captain than anyone in the universe.”  
She stated it confidently as though it were a well known fact, and not their unspoken secret. A nervous twitch of the hand… so very Jim! But the gaze held firm.  
  
“You know his thoughts.”  
A thrill of heat pulsed through the Vulcan. It had been declared in that same, fearless tone. Absolutely doubtless. She strode forward, slow but purposeful, eyes refusing to budge. Holding Spock’s gaze there, pinned. Begging. He was taken by those eyes… captivated by the power that only one person before her had ever wielded over him. She stopped before his taut form, mere moments apart.  
  
“What does your telepathic mind tell you now?”  
  
A heated spark of a gaze was held, silent fire. Ever so tentative, Spock began to close the distance between them. He was being beckoned forward in the very same manner of his previous mind meld with Jim…  
  
But this could not be Jim! Nonsensical… Illogical…  
  
So close he could smell her hair, and his hands fell upon the meld points. Open, unguarded, he found no resistance as he delved inside. There was a brief moment of confusion, as though the inner being did not know their way around this unfamiliar female physical realm. The essence within was male, brightness, reaching for him like a lifeline. He grasped the essence with his, felt his own jump start and come to life at the very contact.  
  
The perfect glide, the perfect fit… the delicate tendril of gold, familiar like his home planet, and equally endearing… That warmth, that flood of affection and respect reserved for him, the easy merge of his consciousness with that of a wholly compatible mind.  
His perfect fit.  
Pure gold.  
Home.  
T’hy’la…  
Jim.  
  
His eyes had snapped open in surprise to take in the face, for this was undeniably a woman’s body under his hand- to the psychical touch. But this life force, this mind… The person within was none other than James T Kirk. His **T’hy’la** …  
_  
And herein lies that moment; where it all truly began.  
  
Spock’s eyes opened, the heaviness of his eyelids not quite as suffocating as the heaviness of his heart. He had found what he had been looking for, and as he had anticipated, with that knowledge came great sorrow and emptiness. It had truly begun after Rayna had passed, but the event with Janice Lester had cemented the problem. He had experienced the dreams… the stray thoughts that were distinctly not his own shortly after that encounter.  
  
To his own personal shame, he had gotten the closest human in his life involved far too deeply within something that he may not even comprehend. Jim was a human, thrown into the complications of the Vulcan kind. He had not asked for this. He may not have even been aware of what was happening to him, as Spock himself was the first Vulcan the Captain had ever befriended. His Vulcan mind had instinctively sought to join with another so well suited to his own. His human mind simply desired Jim for who he was.   
  
He would make it his own duty to protect Jim’s mind, at whatever cost it required. Whatever the expenditure, Spock would pay it handsomely in exchange for Jim’s well being. Even to endure the suffering of the aloneness that was sure to come… And oh Surak, to fathom the agony of a partially fulfilled bond, defiant in the face of neglect until it ultimately withered with only time, and time alone…  
  
It would be excruciating, but Spock was by now considerably familiar with situations that bit, and stung. Even now, his mind yearned to complete the bond. It ached instinctively to bring him that stability, the comfort that came with finding and joining harmoniously with the perfect compliment to his own mind. He would do everything in his power against his own nature to protect Jim. For nothing, not even The Captain’s own fondness for him, could be permitted to come in between Jim and his first true love.  
  
The Enterprise. His command.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
“Jim.” The Good Doctor put himself between the turbolift doors and the Captain, preventing Kirk from stepping in. Jim had been so fixated on the data pad in his hands, he walked straight into the Doctor without a glance upwards. Now, however, was a different story. He was glaring up, agitated that the flow of his profession had been interrupted.   
  
“Bones, I’m a very busy man.”  
  
The glare Jim got in response for his curtness was considerably more potent. In fact, it appeared so toxic, it might very well have been capable of burning a hole in the turbolift doors.  
  
“Who  _isn’t_. Now report to sickbay, and consider that a medical order.”   
  
  
  
\---  
 _Sickbay_  
\---  
  
  
  
“Bones. We are not, fighting.”  
  
“Oh and what precisely would  _you_  call it then, Captain?” The Doctor enquired in his crisp, biting manner. Jim lifted one of the Doctor’s many vials to view, more out of nervous habit than in interest. His eyes never left the small vial, avoiding the piercing gaze across the table from him.  
  
“Speaking less.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Now you’d think that if I knew the answer to that, it wouldn’t have gone on this long, would it?”  
  
“Dammit Jim, this is re God damn diculous. We’re adults. This isn’t high school. And there’s certainly no room on this vessel for petty bickering-”  
  
“We’re  **not**  fighting, Bones-”  
  
“Speaking less!” The Doctor quoted with a sarcastic snarl, before his eyes regained their no nonsense chill. “And isn’t that **just**  what we need between a Captain and his First Officer?”  
  
“ _Jesus_  Bones,  _is it not enough that he doesn’t speak to me off shift_?” Kirk spurted in an angry hiss, before he withdrew his obvious injury from view. His Captain face returned, his eyes lowered briefly, and then he was staring determinedly ahead. His expression was stern, hardened. “I’m doing, everything I can. This ship is being run at the  _top, most_ , efficiency-”  
  
“Jim…” The unusual quietness in the delivery of the name is what caused a sudden silence in the room. The Doctor was looking grimly upon the younger man, a severity in those all too familiar ice blue eyes. “…you… do know that if this keeps up, it will be on my head to take the both of you off duty? Now I don’t want to have to do that Jim, but as the Chief Medical Officer aboard this ship, I have a duty to perform, and I  _will_  if I have to.” He rounded the table, looking his old friend in the eye. “Don‘t force me to make that choice.”  
  
Instantly, Jim was hurt- ( _first Spock, now Bones_ …) and as was his custom, his intense pain was swiftly recycled into a hot flare of anger. His back straightened, his shoulders pushing back slightly in an unconscious act of defiance.   
  
“On what grounds, Doctor?”  
  
Although the doctor, too, was angry, his body language said more than his furious words or tone could. His friend, his Captain… He was once again finding himself torn between what he  _wanted_  to do, and what he must. His best friend was also his leader, and sometimes that made his job a difficult one. It often came down to choosing between duty and loyalty, but he knew Jim respected both immensely. He knew the Captain expected both relationships to be treated equally and accordingly. Leonard McCoy’s eyes begged:   
  
Don’t make me do this.   
His smart mouth said differently.   
  
“On the grounds,  _sir_ , that not only are the Captain and First Officer refusing to communicate-”   
  
“ **Outside**  their professional duties-”  
  
“-but they are allowing their differences to interfere with the top rated efficiency that the Enterprise is expected to maintain at all times. Maybe things seem to be smooth for the moment, but a ship can’t be run by two senior officers who can’t so much as share a God damn turbo lift together. You know it, I know it, Spock knows it-”  
  
“Then I challenge you, Doctor, to present me with any inefficiency that has been detected over the course of the past two weeks on account of myself or Mr. Spock, and our apparent inability to perform at top efficiency. I will certainly step down at the appearance of any credible evidence. Until that time, Doctor, your concerns are noted, and I’ll thank you not to interrupt my duties again until you can provide me with a valid reason for doing so. Good day.”   
  
“Jim!”  
  
He knew he should feel angry that Jim had just walked out on him, but that wasn’t the case. It was much worse than anger, for all that remained in the quiet room now was pity. Bones could only muster up a deep, sympathetic sadness for his beloved friend.  
  
 _...So it’s been two weeks. He’s been counting._  
  
  
  
\---  
 _A mighty pain to love it is,  
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;   
But of all pains, the greatest pain   
It is to love, but love in vain.  
  
-Abraham Cowley  
_\---  
  
  
It was at the end of this silent second week, shortly after the Good Doctor’s intervention, that Jim finally broke the stinging quiet. He hated to encroach when Spock grew reclusive, but this breed of quiet was simply too much to ask of him.   
  
This silence was too much to expect a poor human to bear. The absence of Spock in his evenings was still almost as quiet as they would have been  _with_  him, but suffocating. He did not quite know the words to offer to describe such an odd, specific feeling.  
  
The closest he could conjure was, the air didn’t feel right… it felt dead somehow, void of warmth and electricity. He didn’t notice how large and hollow his quarters looked until he was standing in them alone. And that one detail absent from the picture, Spock sitting in that empty chair beside the neglected chess board… It changed the entire outlook he had of his own living quarters.  
  
Loneliness had always been the feeling that he detested most of all. And unlike most occasions in the past, he desired no hollow company to fill the void; no temporary filler for his bed. He just wanted to be Jim, not the Captain- and he could only be that unguarded with a handful of people aboard. He wanted to be around the person he knew better than himself; the person who knew  _him_  better than he ever dared to. His chess partner, his best friend.  
  
He hated how dull any and every room grew in the absence of Spock.  
  
The Vulcan was well aware that it would happen- was stunned that it had not occurred sooner. The reaching. Jim would reach to him, always- regardless of the time that passed.  
Sooner or later, Jim would reach out to him. And a part of him cried out for that.  
  
There was a mix of fear and relief, when Jim finally came to him- decided the silence had gone on long enough. It happened when the Captain decided to follow Spock into the turbo lift as they were preparing to beam down to an uncharted world. There was an excitement hanging in the air at the prospect, as there always was; to be the first of their kind to touch the soil...  
  
Jim was desperate to be alone for a few stolen moments to speak, after their continued unusual level of professionalism with each other. There was never time for it, none to spare even now. How Jim loathed the heavy silence that sat between them, how wrong it truly felt. They shouldn’t leave to beam down like this, not when visiting a new world was such cause for enthusiasm. It felt off, to be heading for the transporter room in silence, instead of excited chattering. Now Spock was here with him sharing the lift, feeling certain it was not out of duty alone, and that in itself was a breath of fresh air.   
  
He felt the heat then, come in and fill the air around him, bring it to life. Spock’s hotter than human body was so close to his own, and he felt at peace with the brushing of their shoulders- the warmth soothing. Vaguely touching, Spock was helpless against the rush of feeling that flooded through.   
  
Without consciously choosing to, he realised the second onslaught of emotion he felt from Jim was on account of his own hand, which had extended out in comfort to caress his Captain’s elbow. He watched as golden lashes fell to rest against Jim’s cheek, an expression of relaxation and calm settling in. He felt Jim’s body respond to him, slackening in tension from a simple touch…  
  
 _So responsive… so beautiful, my T’hy’la…_  
  
“Spock… that word.” A pause. “What does that word mean?”  
  
Abruptly, Spock blinked and withdrew. He hadn’t bargained for Jim attaining the ability to read his own thoughts, as well, in exchange through the contact. The Vulcan felt his face grow hot, and he silently wished Jim wouldn’t notice. He was sure he was blushing.  
  
“What word do you speak of, Jim?”  
  
“I just heard it in your mind…I‘ve heard it before.” His gaze had no other option but to meet the intense hazel eyes. “T’hy’la.”  
  
Hearing that word on Jim's lips was near unbearable. The stunned silence that followed was filled with whispers unspoken- Spock could hear them all, the insecure thoughts; could hear Jim worrying whether or not he should have went there, oh God, and to face that cold silence again...  
  
The doors to the turbolift slid open, and Spock could not face him.  
Could not describe all the passion that one word meant in Vulcan, the depth of the emotional connection it represented. And Jim seemed to understand, his face painted with disappointment, but not anger. Spock didn’t know what kept him standing frozen there in the lift with Jim, wanting to disappear but unable to flee the situation. He could do that; but not to Jim. Not like this. A gentle clasp of his shoulder, and Jim was freeing him with that simple touch- showing him mercy as his two sides warred over what action to take next.  
  
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Spock. Just…”  
  
Slowly, with an air of disheartenment, Kirk met his eyes and nodded unhappily. Defeat looked alien on Jim. Wrong.  
  
“Please, make sure you tell me later.”  
  
“Jim…” Spock reached for him, the motion even gentler than his voice, and his human was never meant to see it as he moved to slip through the turbolift doors. Kirk seemed despondent, but wore the ghost of a sad smile as he passed by. Jim had not responded, did not want to look at him, and that could only mean that he was too hurt to bring himself to look Spock in the eye and let him know it. Spock took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught.   
  
A breed of panic roiled up within his core, a feeling so foreign, so illogical. He could provide no immediate, valid reason as to why… but knowing Jim was getting further away from him was frightening; terrible in the worst way, that strong breed of pain that could only be conceived between two who loved each other as opposed to hated. He realized all at once and powerfully that he didn’t  **want**  this, was frustrated and tired of telling himself he didn’t miss Jim badly and he hated the silence,  _hated_  it-  
  
 _But you do not hate, as it is a human emotion. Do you not hear your own thoughts, ranting within like that of a rebelling earth child? It need not be so. To bring peace, you simply must disconnect from your emotions.  
_  
But that small voice in his head was growing louder, and it echoed in the voice of his mother, of the Doctor, of Jim…  
  
 _It isn’t human. It isn’t human!_  
  
“ **Jim**!”  
  
His voice, to his own ears, sounded like a stranger.  
For he had never known himself to sound so wanton, that small undercurrent of his own anxiousness exposed. In the quiet that came the Captain stopped. He turned to look at his First Officer quickly in the emptied hall, brows raised. Spock observed this small gesture and read it for what it was.  
  
 _I’m listening.  
_  
Spock took a few small steps forward from the turbolift, lowering his dark eyes. Jim watched how striking, how delicate the cascade of lash on cheek was- as this was understood to be Spock’s response to his own gesture.  
  
 _Come closer._  
  
And Jim met him part ways, caught up in this strange silent exchange. The distance closed between them but by a foot, and Spock himself didn’t even know where to go from here. All that was concrete was the fact Jim was where he wanted him to be, and he didn’t have a real reason to offer in regards to why he‘d called his name. He met Jim’s eyes, his frustration mounting at his own inability to express all that was bottled. Never the time, never a good time for this. Always rules, regulations, duties, obligations…  
  
So he let his hand speak all he could not, raising to connect lightly with Jim’s chin, cupping it with the tiniest of contact. It was purely affectionate, but the largest of gestures in the eyes of a Vulcan. He knew Jim viewed it as such, if the flicker of surprise that grasped his face was any indication.  
  
“My friend. If this time were our own to make use of... you must understand…”  
  
Kirk’s eyes came to a close, a flash of primal and loving heat finding its way to Spock through the contact. It was want, strong want… love? …then, an old enemy of his, regret.  
When Jim opened his eyes again, the heaviness in them had somewhat ebbed. There was gratefulness there, another level of understanding, and the golden man took a moment to enjoy the touch, leaning in to it before accepting it must be broken.  
  
“You’re honouring your duties, Spock.” Jim said warmly, his eyes alit as he took the hot hand in his own briefly. He then lowered them both, releasing the hotter than human hand, and with it the heaviness that had followed him from the turbolift. “If I expected any less than that from you, neither you nor I would be on this ship. ”  
  
  
 _You’re right, Spock. This time belongs to the Enterprise. Later is ours.  
_  
  
And that was, in fact, logical.   
  
So why did Spock feel hatred toward that word lately, whenever it crossed paths with Jim? The word was like an old flame, teasing him with the prospect of having its way with Jim’s free and vibrant mind. He was starting to, as they say, ‘rub off’ of Jim. That would be a comfort, if it were any other human in his life. But not his Jim. He did not want his Vulcan ways to alter or change the lovely way his Captain already existed.  
  
And if he had believed that he was sure of what self loathing could become on account of his Vulcan side… the hatred his human half possessed for that cold Vulcan half of him at that very moment brought a whole new stabbing level of awareness to it.  
For no race could self loathe like that of a human.  
  
  
  
\---  
 _You’re begging me to go, you want me to stay…  
Why do you hurt me so bad?  
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you’ve had?  
Believe me, believe me, I can’t tell you why  
But I’m trapped by your love  
And I’m chained to your side…  
  
-Pat Benatar_  
\---  
  
  
  
“And I suppose by the smug look on your face that the transporter is ready to beam us down ahead of schedule, Mr. Scott?”  
  
Spock quietly enjoyed the playful glint in Jim’s eye, his muted appreciation of the miracle engineer as he sauntered close to the beaming pads.   
  
“Aye, an’ yeh kin be expectin’ no less Captain. Ready teh beam down on yer order.”  
  
“I’ll be here when you get back, Jim. Do me a favour. Don’t either of you go getting yourselves in shambles. I know how much y’all like to give me a good reason to be standing here all day, but don‘t overdo it this time, Jim. I mean it.” The wide eyed Doctor jabbed a finger toward a rather indifferent looking Vulcan. “You too.”  
  
“Doctor, believe me when I say I try in earnest to successfully carry out a peaceful mission in all of our endeavours. However, inevitably, the other culture has typically surmised other plans.”  
  
“As in don’t blame  _you_ , blame the other guy. And I will, but I’m warning you now, Goddammit, don’t make me have to do that today. I mean do you have any idea how hard it is tracking down T-Negative Vulcan blood? Never mind the hell my medical lab goes through infusing it with red blood cells-”  
  
“That’ll do, Bones. You’ll have plenty of time to lecture us when you have a legitimate reason to later. I can at least guarantee you‘ll be taking care of my shirt.” Jim turned to look at Spock with a smirk. Their eyes then fell to Kirk’s gold command shirt with amusement, both taking pleasure in riling up the doctor.   
  
“What did I just say?!” An unimpressed growl, and Jim‘s grin broke into an all out beam.   
  
“And here I thought not having your particles scattered across the galaxy today might lighten your mood. Why do I try?”  
  
“Damned if know.”  
  
“I am growing to believe that might be a quite futile effort, Captain.”  
  
“Alright gentlemen, while we’re living… are you ready with that tricorder Mr. Spock? A whole set of species you’ve never recorded before, you must be chomping at the bit by now.”  
  
A raised eyebrow, and un utterly nonplussed expression that grew more dire by the second. Jim’s grin thrived on it.  
  
“…Captain, I believe I do not… ‘chomping at the bit‘?”  
  
A golden beam was his answer, quite uncannily akin to the Cheshire cat.  
A nod of the head to Scotty, then…  
  
“Energize.”  
  
  
  
\---  
  
 _Beautiful Nightmare…_  
  
\---  
  
  
  
It was only seven minutes.  
It all happened so fast, Spock had briefly entertained the panicked, desperate idea that it was the most terrible nightmare he’d ever conjured.  
  
Mere seconds ago, Jim was smiling at him as they touched down with a muted enthusiasm, enjoying the Vulcans own anxiousness to explore a new world.  
Then everything that Spock came to know as routine to his life grinded to a screeching halt, and was whip lashed into destructive chaos. They never would have been able to sense it coming. Leiutenant Abraham, one of the three members of the security team that had beamed down with himself, Chief Geologist Rawlins and Jim, had already begun shouting into his communicator:  
  
“TRANSPORTER ROOM,  _Emergency_ -”   
  
He never finished his sentence, as his voice choked off into helplessness.  
He dropped to the ground, and Spock instantly calculated by the spear and its potential for damage where it had entered to have a 79.457% chance of being fatal.  
  
“ABE!” Jim thundered, phaser at the ready as he swiftly pushed to the forefront, defending his men in the abrupt, sudden madness that had been their welcoming committee. Spock snatched his phaser up punctually, stun setting, and started in on a duty that he was more than capable of performing, but liked the least of all in Starfleet. The battle.  
  
There were at least 11 natives plain to sight, and now only 5 of their  
Own men to defend against them. How could so much unravel in seconds?!  
Instantly, Spock began his deductions:  
  
 _We are outnumbered but professionally trained in combat with advanced weaponry which drastically increases our odds of survival…  
_  
“TRANSPORTER ROOM, we have two injuries, one possibly fatal!  _Emergency beam back_ , the Captain  _and_  First Officer are in immediate danger! I repeat-”  
  
Rawlins was screaming into his communicator before whipping it away and grabbing up his phaser- but Spock barely saw him, barely heard him. Because at the same time, the focus of what appeared to be the leader of the native attack had his attention, as he was now jabbing a finger in Jim’s direction.   
  
“Command gold- it is their Leader!”  
  
 _How could they possibly know this information?!_  
  
“Behind that rock cluster! GO!!!” Jim screamed over his shoulder as he ducked and rolled his way through the barrage, only standing to aim and stun to give the others a chance for cover.  
  
Spock felt a brief flit of panic for the second time that day. It was for an entirely different reason, as the attacking group turned their attention from the remaining three others defending to Kirk. His feet were carrying him to Jim at lightening speed, before his mind even had the chance to catch up and wonder just what the hell he thought he was going to do once he got there. All he understood was, he  **had**  to get to Jim. The world seemed to tilt, and spiral on a deranged axle, threatening to split and tumble…  
  
“JIM, GET BACK-”  
  
And it happened. All within the time frame that it took Spock to blink twice, his life as he knew it was irreparably changed. It couldn’t have, but it happened. He leapt for Jim as spears flew, the Starfleet members scattering and firing, ducking behind the rock clusters as ordered, and somewhere in all the buzz four natives dropped to the ground by the sounds of it.   
  
He knew not for certain, for all his eyes could register was the spear careening its way for Jim as he took another of the natives down. While in the air, sailing toward Jim in the seconds before it struck, all Spock could think about was how he knew, he knew Jim never should have been out in front. But Jim would gladly trade his life protecting members of his crew, there was no time to reason with him, to stop him in the madness and now there was no time, no later, no sneaking out of this one oh no no NO NO NO oh no  **please**  no-  
  
 _PleasepleasepleasenothimnothimtakemeTAKEMYLIFEitisforfeitwithouthim **PLEASE** -  
_  
So fast, too fast, it entered Jim’s body, piercing through the command gold, tearing into flesh that he worshipped and cherished more than his own. It had only taken those frantic   
seconds, and the finest Captain the fleet had to offer hit the ground without grace, without a sound. In seconds, the natives had accomplished what had always seemed the impossible to Spock: forcing Jim Kirk to go down for the count.  
  
“TRANSPORTER ROOM, WHERE ARE YOU?!”  
  
“Emergency beam back in progress but thur’s heavy interference from teh planets surface! What in the name-a God’s happenin’ down there?! Yer crackin’ up, lad- comin’ through in pieces while yer in the center of hell fer sure! Stand by teh energize…”  
  
“THE CAPTAIN IS INJURED! I REPEAT, THE CAPTAIN-”  
  
Spock landed near Jim’s collapsed form as the native leader was screaming orders, but he was nearly numb to everything but the hurting- every nerve in his body, alive and screaming, feeling as though he were draining through a hole in his chest…  
  
He looked at Jim’s face so near to his own, eyes half lidded with the intensity of the agony, marred with dirt and tears, pale and twisted, so disoriented…  
not seeing him, not here with him… like a shell of all that Jim was.   
  
Blindly and half scrambling along the ground, the typically graceful Vulcan was swift but clumsy as he was maneuvering his own and Jim’s form behind the makeshift cover of a rock. It was a matter of dragging him a short distance, but in the havoc and crossfire of spear and phaser, it felt like a marathon- a true miracle of a feat.   
  
He needed  **anything** , something to put between Jim and the attackers besides thin air. He propped onto his elbows once behind the jutting rock, trying to get a better look at Jim- to decide whether he was alive or not. The fear was paralyzing, and it temporarily choked the life out of him as he tried but failed to utter anything. What finally came out was an agonized croak of:  
  
“Jim… Jim…” He fell into the ground again, struggling less with strength and more with how hard his hands were trembling. Jim was laying so close beside him, their heads finding refuge against the soft earth. Spock tasted the bitterness of the terrain, clawed closer- close enough to feel his own breath gusting against Jim’s face, waiting to feel or hear a gust of breath in answer. He did not care if he was tidy or sane or eating dirt or safe or far from it. He was shrieking on the inside.  
  
 _Cannot die cannot die cannot die! YOU MUST NOT DIE!_  
  
“Jim…Jim! You must answer me…stay  **conscious**! …JIM!”  
  
He just needed Jim to respond ( _just respond_!), and he could come back to the living world again, not staying in limbo with this fearful, sickening haze of dread…  
  
“Spuhh…” Barely a gurgle, followed by a thin trickle of crimson. ( _Was his lung injured_?) It was enough. It told Spock that Jim lived, it wasn’t over. That’s what  
motivated him to force himself up, onto his feet. His phaser in hand, he poked over the top of the rock and one by one each native became a number- a number that decreased Jim’s chance of survival. He watched them dropping, stunned, each shot direct and effective. The leader of the natives voice rose above the turmoil:  
  
“You  **fool**! The Klingon commander ordered his capture, not his demise!”  
  
Spock felt the pain- the immense, breath pilfering pain,  _oh_  so  _sharp_ , oh merciful Surak, so deep…not his own.  
  
“Move in and collect the Captain as a hostage at  **once** …as long as he breathes, he is useful to us! Kill the other, he is an efficient assassin!”  
  
“I have you covered from the east Mr. Spock, protect the Captain!”  
  
Then, he saw nothing.  
They say that in a state of rage one might see red, and it was true in that circumstance for a fleeting moment. There was only the burning redness, to blinding white, then the blackness of what he felt clouded all else into a raging nothingness.  
  
When he felt the familiar tingle of his being scattering and beginning to re-assemble onto a transporter pad, he was still tearing at the native who had managed to  
move in to collect- had snapped his spear like a toothpick and was tearing at him with his hands, his feet, teeth...  
  
He threw the being forcefully, knocking him spiralling back unconscious into two others.  
Then he looked down, and realized he’d been standing over Jim’s crumpled form, protecting… guarding him from further damage.  
Looking upon him, he knew from what he saw (what he felt…  _oh the pain, the terrible pain Jim is in_ …) that the damage had been done.  
One of his pale hands shot out and began applying pressure to the wound, fighting the battle against it to claim and keep Jim’s life.  
With the last of his strength, mid transportation, one of Jim’s convulsing hands   
sought out Spock in a daze- weakly grazed sleek black bang, trembled against the curve of a slender pointed ear. Just the fact that he was awake and moving again made Spock feel less hollow; less like the living dead.  
  
“Ssspuh…Spock…” The Vulcan had never made it a habit to move during a beam up, but this was not a time to deny Jim anything. He clasped that hand in his own free grasp, and it was the least sturdy Jim’s grip had ever been in his own. The slickness of Jim’s hand was something he could not bring himself to look at, could not stand to see all that blood and know how precious it was, how carelessly it was being wasted, how badly it was needed to keep Jim there with him…  
  
 _Stay with me, Jim, stay with me, stay with me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me…  
  
_ Everything hurt,  _everything_ …  
  
As if reading his own horrified, frantic thoughts, Jim uttered the very words that kept screaming out prominently in Spock’s mind, like a revered mantra, bartering and begging with whatever deity that would offer mercy...  
  
“Don’t…ngh,  _Spock_ …” Kirk rasped, his breath coming in sharp, laboured hitches… “Don’t- Don’t leave me…”  
  
His hand went slack.  
  
  
  
\---  
 _And you know…  
That I’m going to be the one, who’ll be there  
When you need someone to depend upon…  
When tomorrow comes.  
  
-Eurythmics  
\---  
  
  
As always, let me know your thoughts ladies and gents- it's back to work for me!  
Thanks for your lovely comments so far, they're very appreciated. :)_


	7. Ch. 7: Crippled Inside

\---  
  
  
  
  
 _Again, I apologize for how long I take from chapter to chapter. I am a perfectionist at heart, especially when dealing with characters I am so fond of. I believe you'll understand what I mean once you dive in to this, so be my guest..._  
  
  
  
  
 _\---_  
  
  
 _“For an instant, he was in Sickbay, standing over this human as he’d done a hundred times before. Kirk had been injured during planet fall (again); McCoy was working frantically to save his life (again); and Spock knew he must be there when his companion awakened (if indeed he ever did).”  
_  
 _-Della Van Hise, Killing Time_  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
Blood.  
Blood, blood, blood.  
No matter where he put his hands, or how much pressure he applied, it kept escaping.  
  
  
“I REPEAT CODE RED- Emergency beam up!” Geologist Rawlins was still yelling as his body re-assembled itself onto a transporter platform aboard the Enterprise. He was the only one left relatively unscathed besides Spock.   
  
  
Crimson.  
(He would never look at the color of his home planet quite the same again.)  
Rivulets over pale fingers, and Spock worked like a machine set on auto pilot- his limbs were efficient, calculated, logical- while his human emotions screamed, agonized, and kept from bubbling to the surface for one reason. It was held in place by a crippling, clutching terror.   
  
  
“Scotty what took so Goddamn long?! Oh Jesus, JIM!” Never had anyone in the room seen the good Doctor move at such a break neck speed before. Scotty dashed to the com and with the pound of his fist, snarled:   
  
  
“Sickbeh we need a medical team in t’eh transporter room NOW- the Captain’s been injured!”  
  
  
“Spock, SPOCK! Listen to me! Keep your hands there and don’t even BLINK until I tell you to! For Christ’s  _sakes_  where is that-”  
  
  
“This is Sulu to transporter room, reporting data issued by Starfleet command via transmission. We have just received word from the Klingon Empire…”  
  
  
“Computer, record communication teh my log fer proper future analysis, I cannah hear a  **damned**  thing in all this ruckus and there’s just no  _time_ -”   
  
  
Seconds. Maybe minutes. Then time became an irrelevant four letter word. For all the worth of his superior hearing, Spock heard nothing. He grasped Jim’s mind through the bond securely, frantic to hold him in consciousness.  
  
  
 _Do not fight me, Jim. Stay with me.  
  
  
Spock? Thank God… I’m… having trouble, focussing…  
  
  
Come to me at once. Let me help…   
_  
  
He felt Jim’s aura, his sliver of golden thread scrabbling to grasp on to his own extended essence. The strong Vulcan link was keeping Jim’s wavering, unstable human consciousness afloat like a life ring. Jim’s essence clung to his, practically collapsed into it, exhausted. Before losing the fight with consciousness, Spock received a burst of Jim’s emotions before they faded with his awareness. The human pushed an encouraging aura of trust through their bond to reach him. He felt secure, relieved in the dark warmth- he trusted Spock to bring him back to safety. Back home.  
  
  
 _I **am**  home… you’re here…  
  
  
No. NO! Jim, you must stay with me, you must-  
_  
  
“Help me get him up here, Spock!” McCoy’s voice was tight and near, and the Doctor’s tidal wave of anger and concern slammed him back into the waking moment. Chaos around him, complete and utter chaos. They were rushing Jim to sickbay, and his hands were still trying to keep the ebb of Jim’s life force within him.  
  
  
It stopped being torn arteries, abdominal haemorrhaging…   
It stopped being a matter of biology and procedures and stats because it was James T Kirk. It was  **Jim** ,  _his_  Jim in this dangerous gamble of life or death. That fact alone (illogically) changed everything about what was happening. He couldn’t disconnect the man from the issue, because it was not just a man wearing a Starfleet Uniform to him anymore. It was… ‘what happens from here, if anything terrible should befall him?’  
  
  
It was  _everything_.  
Friend, brother, lover…  
The smallest of voices in his mind, crying out his deepest terror…  
 _What happens to me, without Jim?_  
So much red…  
  
  
Rivers of life, all that scarlet silk pouring out; all that allowed Jim to be here, to exist. All that kept Jim prowling the bridge like a proud lion, kept his heart beating in the silence of their chess games, that rushed to his cheeks when he laughed…  
  
  
Escaping around his fingers.  
  
  
 _Jim, my Jim…_  
  
  
His T’hy’la ebbed away with every rivulet that ran free.  
And he was helpless to stop it.  
He had never known this breed of impossibility; nor this anguish.  
  
  
His hands began to tremble; he forced himself to steady his fingers… he hadn’t even realized they’d made it to sickbay until McCoy started shouting:   
  
  
“Jenson- my bag! We need this material out of the way NOW, God  _dammit_  man,  **move**!!!”  
  
  
The young medical assistants hands quaked as he attempted to rid the legendary man beneath him of his bloodied shirts. He had heard the confident, collected voice of this man over the ship’s com many times, and it had brought him and his co-workers… his friends… such peace, such security in their darkest of moments far from earth.  
  
  
 _What would the Enterprise be like, without Captain Kirk?_  
  
  
The idea was devastating, and he loathed his human hands, shaking with the weight of what was happening. It was one of his first encounters with the ships famous Captain.  
The movement that happened next was in no way rude, nor violent. But it was a lightening speed snap of the wrists that sent Spock’s hands darting like the strike of a cobra to the gold material. There was a significant tearing sound, and James T. Kirk had lost yet another set of shirts. Attempting to keep the human half of his mind under his mastery, the Vulcan thought of how Jim would smile at that, once he came out of this…  
  
  
If he came out of this.  
  
  
“Jesus!! Thank you, Spock… now get the hell out of here!”  
  
  
“Doctor, I-”  
  
  
“God  _dammit_  Spock don’t you argue, he needs all I’ve got  **now**  and I  _won’t_  do this in front of you!” The glint of a medical kit exposing its innards, hovering over the blur of red that represented Jim’s torso that Spock somehow could not bring focus to; did not want it to solidify and settle into his unforgivably sharp memory, never to be forgotten… The frantic sounds of scrabbling arms and hands diving around the ship’s chief medical officer filled the room as they delivered hypo’s. It was all too much to take at once, but somehow, they were doing it. Jenson looked upon McCoy with fierce urgency.  
  
  
“Ready to begin immediately, Doctor…”  
  
  
Furious, yet begging piercing blue eyes levelled with Spock‘s.  
  
  
“Out.”  
  
  
He did not even ask to be contacted. He did not need to. The glare they exchanged said all they could not. He merely did the best thing he could possibly offer in that moment.  
Spock turned sharply on his heels, folded his hands together behind his back, and strode out of sickbay. The doors slid shut, the hall was empty and silent, and Spock was in a dead daze.  
  
  
He realized that he was losing the sensation in his hands; that his grip was punishing, convulsing…  
  
  
\---  
  
  
 _One thing you can’t hide, is when you’re crippled inside._  
  
-John Lennon  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was a blind walk to the turbo lift. He had to remember to tell himself that he needed to breathe, and that had never happened to him before. The turbolift doors closed on him, closed on his outside mask  & persona. He felt the emptiness that was the lack of Jim’s presence next to him in the lift.  
  
  
Who had known that one could miss the warm brush of a shoulder so poignantly?  
  
  
He stared ahead at nothing. Outside, he looked a vision of calm, cool collection. Inside, he was wounded. Devastated.  
  
  
The Enterprise without Jim would not be unlike an abandoned shell; serving its purpose, functioning still… but void of life, of energy. Eternal vacancy; soulless.   
  
  
Like a tomb.   
  
  
He experienced a very human shudder.  
  
  
Jim was the spark that lit the wick; the life behind the Enterprise that pushed her name into legend. He was the motivation, the driving force that brought her to life and made her breathe.  
  
  
 _He brought me to life._  
  
  
Without him, the Enterprise would truly lose her meant to be; she would lose her solitary soul mate. A little voice inside Spock confirmed that he would be losing that as well.  
  
  
A ship could return and offer no love to a human man. Spock had always known that. But how fiercely Jim did protect her from harms way… How he stirred the fear within even a Vulcan with his rash, sudden decisions. Spock had always known that risk was at the forefront of what they were doing out here. Secretly, in the most shameful and deep of his private thoughts, he had vehemently hoped against this. He would have bartered logically with whatever deity that was out there, that if it came down to the two of them on a mission, and one wouldn’t be going home… that Jim would be spared. The alternative…   
  
  
 _The alternative._  
  
  
Spock closed his eyes against it, against the turmoil, against the utterly foreign burning in his eyes that felt so odd. Just to think on it was punishment enough…  
  
  
 _If he should not… recover from this latest attempt on his life, would I in all honesty remain here?_  
  
  
Death would be a friendlier prospect. Death would be more welcome to him than returning to that bridge, trading in his science officer blue tunic for a gold command dress.  
  
  
 _In Jim’s Gold…_  
  
  
Sitting in that chair, in command, knowing that Jim never would be again.  
  
  
 _Do not think of it any further. Do not think on such a thing…_  
  
  
He clamped his eyes shut, feeling the sensation painfully leave his hands again.  
  
  
 _Do **not think**  on such a thing._  
  
  
He re-opened his eyes, suddenly and scarily void of feeling. He had arrived at the next level. The last level, when facing fear and hopelessness.  
  
  
You see… there are feelings that can be experienced that are far, far worse than dreading, than grieving. There are far more terrible things than tears, or screams of pain. There exists such a thing as an utter, all encompassing hollowness; so fathomless and dead… a breed of grief that might grip one so violently with such vigour, it sucks them barren. Strips them bare like frozen food, until it leaves them unable to emote. The mere prospect of going to that bridge, facing that chair again… the vacant Captain’s chair. It had pilfered Spock, left him empty. Numb. His Vulcan half wrestled with a sudden stab of hysteria in the hollowness.  
  
  
 _Dead…  
_  
  
He grasped his raven capped head in his hands, not remembering lighting the candles, not remembering how or when he’d begun sinking to the floor… he didn’t even recall when he’d exited the turbolift, where he was, and nor did it matter. There was only one thing he was certain of now in the madness. And that was, life without Jim would be existence without pleasure. There were others in his life who brightened it, yet all the same… one of Jim’s own personal thoughts returned to him, as it was profoundly appropriate.  
  
  
 _(They aren’t you.)  
  
  
You  **love**  him. You have permitted yourself this foolishness…you love him with such an intensity now, you have allowed yourself to grow to need him. So illogical. So  **human** …  
  
  
(God, what I’d give to live this, even for one day out of my life…)  
  
  
You love him. And how desperately he sought to know the truth, how fiercely you denied him.  
_  
  
 _(What does it mean, T’hy’la?)  
  
  
Would you have him die, never having been told, as humans so desperately yearn for? Never experiencing… never knowing how truly cherished he is?  
_  
  
And then the final lash, as Jim’s thoughts resurfaced to terrorize him.  
  
  
 _(Is it too great a thing to ask, to have something to live for?)_  
  
  
He jolted violently, coming out of the haze of darkness at a sharp noise that attacked his ears within his quarters… was he in his quarters? And how much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? He was taken off guard, disoriented as for one of the first times in his life, he found he possessed no concept of time…  
  
  
He observed the area around him, the candles, the dark room… how his fingers were now digging in, gripping the rug on his floor hard enough to whiten his knuckles. Most alarming was the unsettling, entirely alien wetness of his face. He’d seen his mother consumed in these once, seen them on Jim’s cheeks before.  
  
  
Tears.  
  
  
 _Human tears.  
_  
  
“Spock.” It was McCoy’s voice, but it didn’t have that harsh confidence it usually carried. It sounded wrong, to hear the Doctor so quiet and shaken. But just hearing his voice at all brought a strange form of comfort. “Spock? ...you can come up.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
 _How pale he is._  
  
  
It was the first thing Spock noticed as he silently followed the Doctors back into the room. They both took a wordless pause to observe Jim, bandaged and unmoving…white in a way they had never seen him. After a moment, Spock sensed that McCoy would speak to him.   
  
  
“Spock, I’m uh… I’m going to need your help down here. So if you’ll kindly get a move on and contact Mr. Scott-”  
  
  
“I beg your pardon, Doctor. But I cannot simply withdraw from my duties without a very dire reasoning, and a thorough explanation to Starfleet Command.”  
  
  
“And I’ll give you one. Not only do I believe you’re not currently emotionally fit for command-”  
  
  
“I would challenge this allegation, Doctor-”  
  
  
“And I would prove it by having you hop up on that table  **right**  now, go through the motions we both know and  _love_  to do, and then we’ll go and make it a formal entry in my Medical Log, which I trust would be rather humiliating for a Vulcan!” The Doctor snapped, leering up at Spock’s straight, expressionless face.   
  
  
Though he would probably take this information to the grave, the sight of Spock’s still, calm face always seemed to remind him to breathe. It was a solid, constant reminder for him to keep it together in the face of any temper tantrum he might be having. He heaved out a breath of anxiety and started again.  
  
  
“You’re not the only person aboard who’s capable of command, Spock. But you’re the only person aboard this vessel who can reach Jim Kirk’s consciousness right now.”   
  
  
McCoy never blinked, his expression gaining an edge of desperation as it doubled in intensity.   
  
  
“I’ve done everything I can from here. And if you want me to say it I’ll go ahead and say it. That’s not  **good**   **enough**  for me. I need  _you_  to get in there, and come back with a damn good reason for me to get some sleep tonight. Otherwise, you may as well get used to hearing me talk. A lot. Because I won‘t be resting on a mind as heavy as this one!” The Doctor hissed, jabbing a finger to his temple with a scowl that would frighten children.   
  
  
A slanted brow raised curiously.  
  
  
“Am I to understand… that you are doubting yourself, Doctor?”  
  
  
“Am I a Vulcan, Mr. Spock? Did my medical training include a mind melding 101 course? Or do you think I wouldn’t have a chair pulled up to his bed by now with my fingers stuffed in his face if I knew it would do a lick of good? Now drop the attitude. I’ve dealt with enough for one day.”  
  
  
“And what would the Captain think of me, knowing that I relinquished command in an urgent situation?”  
  
  
“Have you heard  _none_  of Sulu’s reports?”  
  
  
Those words very nearly shattered Spock’s outward mask of indifference. It was quite akin to a stab in the gut, a nervous sensation skittering down his back because  **no**. No, he had not… he… why, he had not heard  _anything_  since his departure from sickbay. And that scared him. Almost angered him, even. That was solid evidence that what the Good Doctor was saying was correct. Even more scary…  
  
  
“Well? Where have you been for the past NINE hours?! There are three other ships from the fleet out there, we’ve been contacted by both Starfleet and the Klingon Empire regarding a guerrilla ship that was stolen from a Klingon Military base. And you mean to tell me this is news to you? Well that settles it then, Spock. You belong  _right_  here, and you‘re staying. If you dare try to weasel your way out of here, I’ll come down on you with a medical scanner so hard-”  
  
  
“That will not be necessary, Doctor. As it has always been within human custom to state at such a juncture, ‘I surrender’.”  
  
  
“Well I’ll be Goddamned…”  
  
  
“Preferably not.”  
  
  
“Still, I’m not satisfied. I don’t quite understand what to call this situation we‘re in. With backup from the fleet, we’re clearly out of danger for the moment…”  
  
  
“Elaborate, Doctor.”  
  
  
“Well this isn’t being viewed as interplanetary war, it’s a diplomatic incident- this is what Klingons do best. Manipulate a culture for their own benefit or profit. But why did this happen? How could it, in such an organized, brutally disciplined and obedient culture? Are we honestly expected to believe this charade, with a stolen ship from the Klingon Empire… someone just waltzes out with a ship from the  _Empire_? I mean am I the only person who finds that too ridiculously farfetched to be possible? Who’s to say it’s isolated? How are we to know what the Klingons are planning, or what their true intentions are?”  
  
  
“I believe you are permitting your paranoia to commandeer your thoughts Doctor-”  
  
  
“Well I  **don’t**! Because I believe that Klingons have one and  _only_  one motive. And that’s to gain for themselves. Success. It’s all I’ve ever heard a Klingon talk about. Success, glory, victory, power… And the only thing I’ll trust them to do every time, is stab you in the back when its turned.”  
  
  
“Quite racist, Doctor.”  
  
  
“And have they earned any better?!” McCoy bawled, slamming a fist down on a tray that separated them. “Look at the Captain, Spock.” He snarled, jabbing a finger toward Jim stiffly. “What else is next? How many more people have to get hacked by Klingons before we learn that they can’t be trusted?”  
  
  
“Curious you should mention that Doctor, as your own earth’s history has proved in the past that humans, as a race of self murderers, should not be trusted. Human treachery has been the catalyst for bloodshed of millions of sentient beings on your own planet.”  
  
  
“That was  _then_ , Spock. I can’t speak for people who lived or died thousands of years ago, or what they did. But I can speak for people who aren’t killing senselessly  _today_ , who are living and dying here, and now. Because they’re  **my**  patients, and therefore  **my**  problem.”  
  
  
At that gruff retaliation, the edges of Spock’s eyes crinkled ever so minutely, and they warmed like melting chocolate- a strange parallel to his otherwise expressionless face.  
  
  
“Congratulations, Doctor. Your statement was shockingly… logical.”  
  
  
McCoy bristled at the unexpected compliment with a red face, bouncing on his toes.  
  
  
“Yeah… well…”  
  
  
“And what do you propose should be done, if they cannot be trusted? That we destroy them?”  
  
  
“Now you’re sounding like one of them yourself. No, you pointed eared thinking box, use that huge computer in your head and think! We can exist in the same universe as them, as difficult as  _that’s_  proving to be. But they can’t be trusted. They need to be watched, controlled-”  
  
  
“And if another race were to come to such a decision regarding the existence of human beings? Would you so willingly be controlled by an outside influence? Your privacy invaded, your freedom limited?”   
  
  
“I can’t believe you could talk to me about this with Jim lying there, a product of the ever useful tactics of this diplomacy you seem to be so fond of.”   
  
  
“Fond of? I must inform you, that is not the case. I think logically, Doctor. And logically, I believe that if Jim Kirk were conscious at this time interval and one of us were the injured party, he would currently be cutting this debate short to tend to the needs of said individual.”   
  
  
“For once, I think I‘m forced to agree with you Spock. Jim Kirk is in real trouble here. You can see for yourself the kind of state he’s gotten himself into this time. And he needs more than just my bells and whistles to get him through this! Now are you going to pull up a chair make yourself useful?”  
  
  
“I must enquire if this is being recorded into the medical log, as I would desire a copy for myself. Doctor, I never dared to believe that this day would come- when such a confession deriving from yourself would be made.”  
  
  
“You smug, green blooded son of a bitch. Are you listening to a word I’m saying?!”  
  
  
“Clearly, as my hearing is considerably better than that of a humans, and you are now a mere one foot and six inches, seventeen point four millimetres from my face- yet your vocalizations are at an exceedingly adequate volume, capable of alerting all inhabitants aboard Deck 5 of what we are discussing.”  
  
  
“What a time for you of all people to develop a God damn sense of humour. Now I assure you that if you argue with me once more for the rest of this day, you’ll be occupying the bed next to him with something nasty!”   
  
  
Although many would take such a threat seriously, Spock felt warmed. If Bones had time to be a snarling bastard, then things were normal enough to breathe again at least. It was the welcome familiarity, the sense that things seemed to be sliding back into place again. How easy it was to send their lives into shambles out here in space; and how quick the transition between safety and danger took place. Sometimes, with everything that would throw them for a loop, it was difficult to hang on by the fingertips.   
  
  
Silently, the pair moved to Jim’s bedside, merely observing the typically lively man in a rare state of quiet and rest. He looked ill, so  _ill_  hooked up to the Doctor‘s contraptions, so close to death that it was near sickening. Spock was so lost in his own observations, he hadn’t noticed just how choked his moody friend had grown beside him. It was only when Bones reached over gingerly to lay a hand on Jim’s arm that Spock became aware, the Doctor’s fingertips clumsily grazing the Vulcan’s hand on the way. It delivered a jolt of all McCoy was feeling through the touch; the stress of operating on a friend, the agony of nearly watching him die, the uncertainty in his whittled skills during such a dire moment: Was his  **all**  sufficient? Would he be enough to see Jim through this one?  
  
  
“You underestimate yourself, Doctor.” Spock’s deep velveteen voice rumbled quietly, not looking at McCoy to avoid the embarrassment he might find in pale blue eyes. He had no control over the reading of ones thoughts when unexpected contact came into play.  
  
  
“Stay outta my head.” Came the grumpy growl, followed by a heady sigh. “And… thank you. I think. Coming from you… I’m not sure, but I believe that was a compliment.”   
  
  
“You are not incorrect.” Came the rough silk voice again, warmer than before. They fell into silence, and you could practically hear the raise in the Doctor’s ego; feel the glow of pride as he let the rare praise sink in. There was no speaking for such a time, Spock began to ponder if McCoy had drifted off or slipped out. He could not tell, as he could not bring himself to remove his eyes from Jim’s still form- as though the small rise and fall of his chest was a sick trick of the eye that would surely cease at random. What a cruel, exhausting game fate had played on them today…  
  
  
“He’ll live, no thanks to himself.” He nearly jumped at the unexpected sound. Not only was the Doctor still there, but he sounded quite different from his usual self. He heard a shuttered, wavering suck inward, and Spock became distinctly aware that the Doctor was dangerously close to exposing his emotions to him in the form of tears. It stunned and humiliated Spock inwardly, as he realized he was also still guilty of feeling the illogical need to do so.   
  
  
It had hit too close to home. It had proven to be just a little too much for the human and a half to deal with; to just settle back to normal instantly. Spock needed to reel in that side of him again, to  **control** , for it had very true to the word  _forced_  its way to the surface and run wild. He could not afford the luxury of human emotionalism now that the risk had passed. He closed his eyes tightly, willed himself to enjoy a few calming breaths, and felt his Vulcan lid slide neatly over the chaos of his emotional human half. Not before he got to quirk an eyebrow over the last fleeting emotion- fondness, a type of unexplainable, silly closeness- a brotherly affection for Dr. McCoy at their shared emotions.  
  
  
After this whirlwind of an ordeal, Spock had solidly come to a few definite conclusions about humans as a whole. Humans were a terrifying species: impulsive, But it seemed to be this exact dire life or death situation- this inability to maintain complete and utter calm and logic due to their emotions- which seemed to force them into their highest peak of efficiency. It seemed even their bodies, injected with a shot of adrenaline to any extreme situation or burst of emotion, came prepared to better itself in the face of chaos. An evolutionary survival tactic dating back to the very roots of mankind itself. Fascinating. Utterly, revealingly, fascinating. In a way, human emotionalism served as a much needed driving force behind their continued striving for a full potential and existence.   
  
Thoroughly loving, unwaveringly loyal, and somehow oddly connected to each other more deeply than any other culture he’d known… regardless of their lacking telepathy.   
Instead, they possessed an intoxicating gift of empathy. In such a brutal existence full of ruthless emotional violence, there were still some of them so fiercely attached to one another that they’d risk their own existences to protect each other…  
  
  
He only just realized that he was merely trying to distract himself from what he was currently participating in. Here he was, in the last place he’d imagine finding himself in the entirety of the galaxy. And yet he could not deny the fact that he was in McCoy’s grasp, feeling the shaky and gentle embrace of cool human arms. And he, too, was trembling; returning the gesture. He was giving comfort he had never known was within him to give; receiving it when he had not realized he was in need of it.  
  
  
“That sunuvabitch is gettin’ too good at scarin’ me shitless. He’ll be lucky I don’t kill him  _myself_  after that God damn hellstorm…”   
  
  
Spock was too stunned by his own unconscious actions to respond, merely allowing the Doctor release from his arms when he moved back. Expecting that this display of emotionalism would be too much for the Good Doctor to resist, Spock readied himself for an onslaught. How was he going to Vulcan his way out of this one? But that familiar taunting glint never entered McCoy’s eyes, as they were currently occupied by something far more embarrassing for a grown man.   
  
  
The Doctor was glaring at him, almost daring him to be the first to draw out a jab or insult. Neither drew their swords, and instead they observed each other in a new understanding and a shared weariness. These two men had been through _everything_  together… everything except falling apart in front of each other at the same time. Finally, McCoy’s voice put an end to the strange, reverent quiet of the moment in typical Southern Doctor fashion.  
  
  
“When he wakes up…” He began quietly, licking his lips as he stared stubbornly at the floor. “…don’t you even  **dare**  tell him about that.” His gaze returned to the severe features of the ships First Officer, face flushed, eyes aggressive and still unusually bright with unshed tears. “Or I shall surely knock you the hell out, Mr. Spock.” The Doctor’s voice was a gruff warning, but ever so slightly broken as he roughly swiped a hand over the stubborn tears that had now escaped without permission. Then McCoy turned sharply on his heels, escaping bashfully into his office- giving Spock the privacy with Jim that he needed but would never ask for.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
 _McCoy is such a secret tender heart. <3_

_...and...Spock is breaking my heart. But then again, when doesn't he. He's too good at that. Have mercy on us poor women. (And some men.) Also, if you are a K/S fan and you have not gotten your paws on a copy of Della Van Hise's Killing Time... do yourself a favour. Go to eBay and snatch one of those babies up. It is the most slashtastic published Star Trek novel I own. It is positively decadent._


	8. Some Healing Trance

This has been one of the absolute most fun, tense, and hard chapters for me to create. It was truly a labour of love, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it...  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 _I want to have you  
Because you’re all I’ve got  
I don’t want to lose you  
Because it means a lot  
All the joy this world can bring  
Doesn’t give me anything  
When you’re not here…  
_  
-Annie Lennox  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
In the days that followed what both men would mentally dub ‘the incident‘, Spock didn’t just cast a shadow in sickbay.   
  
  
He would more accurately haunt it.  
  
  
To McCoy, he looked like a pale marble statue wearing clothes, placed at Jim’s bedside. He didn’t move much, he didn’t venture far- and when he did, it was almost always to fulfill a duty. Since the formal request the Doctor had made for his assistance during Jim’s recovery, using his knowledge of Vulcan healing techniques, Spock had been a consistent presence.   
  
  
At first it was disturbing, how little sound he made. He would enter the room, his footfalls nearly non-existent, and he would gracefully sit  & poise in the chair beside Jim, straight backed and mute. He would not frivolously toss greetings, offer chit chat about the day, or inquire as to the hardships each person he encountered in sickbay had undergone. Nurse Chapel still clearly did not understand it, and sometimes stood soundlessly and helplessly, watching the Vulcan in the quiet; wishing to reach out.   
  
  
Many humans interpreted silence as soundless suffering. The Doctor himself was usually guilty of that as well. But Bones hadn’t expected himself to understand the statue of logic that frequented his sickbay. Startlingly, he was beginning to in some way. Spock would sit there, not asking about anyone, not hoping or desiring someone would ask about him in turn.  
  
  
But he  _listened_.  
  
  
And you could guarantee that whatever you told him, he would never forget.  
The only time that Spock would offer any type of reaction to the weirdness of being left at the mercy of so many emotional humans would be a brief slacking in his tension; a small gesture. One that stood out for the Doctor was catching Spock’s lip quirking one day at the end of one of McCoy’s particularly long winded rants. He was silent, wearing that small expression for a mere couple of heartbeats. Then…  
  
  
“Are you not going to put forth your usual paranoid testing of my listening skills to become assured that I have indeed been attentive to your rantings?”  
  
  
McCoy’s mouth twisted in answer, feeling a stubborn reluctance to accept the fondness that was creeping through his insides.   
  
  
“No.” Was the word that worked its way out of his pursed lips, his eyes whirling around the room to avoid that dark, steady gaze before he bounced on his toes. “I know you’re listening to me. Jesus. You don’t have to rub it in.”  
  
  
And Spock  _did_  listen, always. Even if he didn’t look at you, he devoted more of his attention to what you spoke than any human with their eyes latched on to you could.   
  
  
Bones could just pull up a seat next to Spock and plunk down unceremoniously, and the Vulcan would not stir in the face of a changed environment. It was actually… relaxing, to be near Spock. If McCoy wanted to rant and rave about how much he hated Jim for not being awake yet, or why the  _hell_  hadn’t Spock pulled him back out of it yet using his Vulcan mumbo jumbo, Spock would listen without interference. If Bones wanted to sit next to Jim and scowl and pout at him, feeling so low about all of this that he couldn’t find words, Spock was ok with that too.  
  
On a couple of the worst and longest days, he came crawling back into sickbay- sometimes drunk, sometimes not. Spock would still be there. He would approach the bed, and Spock would show no indication that he knew Bones was there. The Doctor would then humiliate himself by either begging Jim to come out of it, hissing at him angrily until he either lashed out (he **did**  get Spock to widen his eyes once, when he threw a sample from his skull collection across the room and shattered it), or stormed back into his office for another drink and a cry.   
  
  
When he was at his lowest (yes, it gets lower than getting shit faced, having a one sided shouting match with an unconscious man and throwing skulls), and he just didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him, not even Spock, he would come into the room and offer no greeting. Not a cuss, not a sound. He would sit by Kirk’s head, or slump in the chair massaging a temple, glowering helplessly. He would be so engrossed in Jim, he would not at first realize that Spock would watch him. And, typically, he would stare at Jim’s still face and wish it would come back to life like it used to so badly that his gaze would blur over.   
  
  
Spock didn’t say anything when Bones cried a few times by Jim‘s bedside. He didn’t try to comfort him with words of encouragement, say it would be alright, or even look down his nose at the strange human reactions to a shitty situation. He simply sat there as Bones got it off of his chest and out of his system, dark eyes observing in the quiet. When the Doctor would decide that he had enough of being pathetic for one day, he would begin to stand and swipe his face, hating the wetness there, ready to make his leave.  
  
  
That’s when it would happen.  
  
  
It was the gentlest of touches, and at first he doubted it was actually there- for as quick as it would come, it would leave. But eventually, he knew for certain that it was there. A hotter than human hand at his lower back as he would stand. It was always there whenever he got up to leave, offering him the strength to stand and walk back out of there. It was so small a gesture, so far from intrusive- but so much, coming from Spock. It said all that needed to be said, and that was simply, ‘I’m here’. And he could leave the room with confidence, knowing Spock would stay- that he himself could rest easy; knowing that as long as Spock stayed, Kirk would be ok.  
  
  
Those were the days McCoy appreciated Spock’s company best.  
  
  
Eventually, as the hours would pass, it felt like a regular part of McCoy‘s daily life in sickbay. He discovered a strange sense of peace and balance whenever Spock was near. It wasn’t like their usual encounters, filled with witty banter and frustrating battles of logic versus emotion. Something had changed wordlessly after their encounter. Because no matter what state Spock seemed to see him in- with all his foolish, petty human outbursts and emotionalisms- it never changed the respectful way the First Officer looked at him.   
And in turn, it changed the way McCoy looked at Spock- who often said nothing, but the sparing words he shared were always thoughtful, observant, and helpful. (No wonder Jim had him over to his quarter’s so often.)   
  
  
Furthermore, not many human beings could sit there and watch him throw a tantrum like he had in front of Spock and look at him the same again. It was so strange… he had always thought he’d found a rival in Spock. What he hadn’t bargained for was the potential for the least judgemental, the most loyal, the most patient… the greatest friend he’d ever know.   
  
  
It was not uncommon for McCoy to step out of his office to find Spock seated there beside Jim, going over updates, datapads and missed work with a quiet intensity. He worked dutifully and with great focus, regardless of his surroundings, and opted to perform them here instead of simply doing it in his quarters. Later in the day Bones would return at different intervals, but the only thing that would change would be what Spock was doing at that time. Sometimes reading, very seldom napping- mostly either working or meditating. If he had been trying to connect to Jim, he would sit back promptly- as if he had been sitting that way since the Doctor walked in.   
  
  
The rarest but most gruelling moments were the ones that Spock mourned. It was not very obvious, and it took a few tries for McCoy to get it accurate. Spock would never show signs of weakness during the day, when staff were everywhere. It was only throughout the duration of the night that McCoy might come in quietly to check on Jim, and he would find Spock actually slumped over the side of the bed, arms folded neatly under his head as he either rested or watched.   
  
  
And when he watched, he mourned.   
  
  
To any human eye, there was nothing to see on Spock’s face. But Doctor McCoy was not just any human. He was quite familiar with that face by now. And he knew grief when he saw it, even as well concealed as it was on a Vulcan face. He found those moments very elusive and few; but they were the hardest to bear in silence.  
  
  
Spock spent the days endlessly drifting in and out of Sickbay- but that’s not to say his level of efficiency had taken a beating. McCoy knew that Spock would be damned if Jim awoke to find him neglecting his duties. No, Spock was quite satisfied to work himself to the bone while still maintaining a watchful eye on the Captain. Bones supposed that this nerve wracking ritual wouldn’t change unless something forced it to. Until these techniques worked, until Jim opened his eyes, Spock would not rest easily.   
  
  
He’d seen him in this kind of overworked, restless rut before- had seen the Vulcan go without sleep for 59 days when Jim was missing and in danger once. It was exhausting just to bear witness to.  
  
  
McCoy was sensing a pattern- an unhealthy pattern, but a familiar one. Thankfully, with familiarity, there came quicker solutions. He peered at Spock’s back from his office door, doing his best to maintain silence as he prepared to execute his plan. He steadied himself with a breath, held it, and crept out of the safety of the door. He knew how to take care of the situation quite professionally this time… each footstep was agonizingly slow, calculated…just a few more mere feet to close, and everything would-  
  
  
“I can hear you breathing, Doctor.”  
  
  
Spock’s calm, even tone shocked McCoy into absolute stillness from where he’d been creeping up from behind. He could hear Jim‘s voice in his head, a memory that would stay vivid in his mind for the rest of his life: ‘ _you were so worried about his Vulcan eyes, Doctor, you forgot about his Vulcan ears_...’ Then he was as cheerful as ever, cussing Spock’s superior hearing to hell.  
  
  
“…and my God damn mouth breathing…” He growled, smacking the hypo in his hand down on Jim’s night table. He then moved to stand beside the Vulcan moodily, awaiting his scolding like a naughty child.   
  
  
“While I appreciate your bizarre, irrational yet genuine gesture of extreme concern for my well being, I do not require rest- forced or otherwise. Oddly enough, I believe the prudent response to your concern is thank you. Now, if you would be so kind, I have matters to attend to that require my immediate attention…”  
  
  
Spock began the slow motion of rubbing his hands together, and McCoy knew well enough by now that it meant he was preparing for a meld. The Doctor rolled his eyes, still sour in the face of his soiled attempt.  
  
  
“Stubborn hobgoblin. Fine, hole yourself up. Do what you’ve got to do for him…”  
  
  
Bones had learned very early on that requesting Spock’s assistance instantly meant accepting his terms. During the healing process, Spock would always gently request privacy as he engaged in the rather personal rituals. They were strict to Vulcan culture, and McCoy was more than accustomed to the Vulcan thirst for privacy and discretion. In turn, he’d simply learned how  **not**  to be offended by that. Mostly.  
  
  
There were only a handful of times that McCoy had actually witnessed Spock in mid-meld with Jim, but it seemed to be an extremely intense art, which required great focus. The strangest of all were the couple instances he’d entered the room to find Jim’s hand loosely clasped in Spock’s. He really wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with Vulcan mind contact, but he was convinced by his own human intuition that it didn’t. Vulcan hands were sensitive and private in their culture, and seeing Kirk’s hand in Spock’s had planted the first true seeds of his suspicion.  
  
  
During one particular evening he had returned to sickbay, Bones accidentally stumbled upon a moment he was certain he was never meant to see. It was a moment that quickly catapulted his suspicions into a solidified confirmation.  
  
  
It was silent, mild… barely any movement, any sound; even the sound of breathing in the room was muted. But nevertheless, it changed his life.  
  
  
Because he simply said  **nothing**  for once in his whole existence, and watched.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 _“Where would you estimate we belong, Ms. Keeler?”  
  
“You? …at his side. As if you’ve always been there, and always will.”  
_  
-The City on the Edge of Forever, TOS  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 _I…_  
  
  
In the mundanely familiar quiet of Jim’s consciousness, this meager flicker of awareness reached the Vulcan. Spock’s eyes snapped open with the unexpected surprise, then was quick to close them. He refocused his fine tuned attention to the task at hand, seeking, grasping…  
  
  
 _Jim? …Jim?!  
_  
  
Spock’s Vulcan half felt reluctant to accept the idea that he had just made contact with Kirk’s consciousness. He had been let down too many times over the course of the past couple of weeks by his own dreams, his own thoughts, his own wants… but he was willing to be let down again.  
  
  
 _Jim. If you can sense me in any form at all, alert me in whatever manner you can.  
_  
  
The utter silence that followed was discouraging. As the silence stretched from seconds to minutes, creeping into half an hour, Spock loathed the bitter taste of disappointment. It was growing too familiar for comfort now…  
  
  
 _I…_    
  
  
Spock jolted minutely, briefly taken in unawares by the second unexpected contact.   
  
  
 _…feel…  
  
I feel you.  
  
….Spock?_  
  
  
He paused, hand trembling over the meld points as he stared down at Jim’s still face. Was he imagining?…  
  
Tentatively…  
  
  
 _I am here, Jim.  
  
  
Thank God. Oh thank God, you’re alive…  
  
  
Forgive me if I find that statement to be quite ironic.  
  
  
You brought me home. I knew you would. The others?…  
_  
  
 _Jim. This is going to be a shock for you. Maintain calm, and pay attention. The others have been seen to. The worst of the injuries have been yours.  
  
  
…then I’m not in the transporter room?  
  
  
You are in sickbay.  
  
  
Sickbay… If I’m in sickbay… and you’re in sickbay…  
_  
  
  
Spock felt a sudden forceful jolt from Jim‘s consciousness, as he became aware of the fact that not only was he in sickbay, but his most suited second in command was as well.  
  
  
 _Spock, the ship!-  
  
  
The ship is not in immediate danger.  
  
  
That’s  **impossible** , Spock have you lost your mind?! When we beamed back to the ship-  
  
  
Jim.   
_  
  
Silence.  
  
  
 _That was exactly thirteen days, eight hours, forty two minutes and fifteen point six seconds ago.  
  
  
I… have been… I’ve been in sickbay for almost two weeks?!  **Why**? That’s ridiculous. That’s unprecedented-  
  
  
You must calm yourself. You are not yet even entirely conscious.  
… you… quite nearly died.  
  
  
Spock… I’m finding it harder than usual to contact you. Is there anything?…  
_  
  
 _I have not initiated a full mind link. I am… concerned, that in your present state, my essence will instinctively do all it must to repair your own in efficient time.  
  
  
And… that… is an issue how?   
  
  
It is a delicate and hazardous position to be in, Jim. Our mental encounters as of late have been more than sufficient to create the foundation for a true joining of the minds. In fact, my Vulcan half has already recognized the compatibility of your mind with my own. My fear is that it will, instinctively, seek out yours to claim with my own. The risk is immense.  
  
  
…I’m… not following you.   
_  
  
 _Please, Jim. You **must** understand. If I am to initiate a full meld with you, we may become bonded.  
  
  
And here I was thinking one of us would die or something.   
  
  
…  
  
  
Well? …What are you waiting for?  
_  
  
Spock felt such a spasm of shock and uncertainty, he nearly severed their connection. But he held his fingers there stubbornly, against his own comfort. This wasn’t the first time Kirk had taken him off guard with a new breed of his own unique madness. He was aware that Jim could not possibly understand…  
  
  
 _You do not comprehend what you ask of me. If we are to bond, our essences shall merge. Our thoughts, collective. Our minds shared. Within, we would no longer be sole individuals.  
  
  
I don’t know about you, but I believe we’ve shared minds for a hell of a long time before now. Either way, we’ve already got people talking.  
_  
  
 _…Surak, grant me the ability to survive this assault of illogical thinking…  
  
  
Excuse me, what was that?  
  
  
I do not jest, Jim. This matter is not a light one, and you must be made aware of the reverberations it may cause. If we are to join in such a way, it is the elimination of separateness between two minds; once forged, it is near irreversible. We may only separate by the skill of a true healer. I have attained my own wealth of knowledge, but I am primarily a Scientist, and my knowledge pales in comparison to that of an elder of Vulcan; one who has rooted their existence in the study and craft of healing. It would be a painstaking, devastating procedure that would surely be particularly unforgiving for a human. Your mind bears no shield to protect you from the agony of a torn bond._   _It would be most excruciating-_  
  
  
 _It’s this, or wait and see when I come out of this on my own. And that’s not good enough, not with the time that’s already passed. If you’ve got an answer now, I want it. Dammit Spock this ship needs me, it needs **you**.   
  
  
Jim…  
  
  
We’ve been given an option. Use it.  
_  
  
A flare of genuine fear touched Jim’s mind, and he realized it was not his own. Stunned that he was actually stirring such an emotion in his First Officer, he instantly felt guilt for pushing him… and hurt, at the weariness. Spock always seemed to trust him so comprehensively, without regret or hesitance… it was so foreign, to see him falter in that well of bottomless trust they‘d built as a team.  
  
  
 _Spock…_    
  
  
His voice returned, considerably gentler.  
  
  
 _I’m… allowing you to do this without fear, because I could never believe it of you; to cause me harm. Whatever happens, we’ll both be in it. Together. And I feel safe with you. **Always**.…don’t you trust me, Spock? …do you think I could hurt you?_  
  
  
Slowly, the fear that Jim had felt ebbing against his own consciousness digressed into non-existence.  
  
  
 _No, Jim. Never intentionally…Very well. Prepare yourself , as I will soon be with you entirely…  
  
…Our minds… they are merging… becoming one…  
_  
  
Colors ( _red red red RED_ ) sounds ( _I shall surely knock you the hell out, Mr. Spock_ -) the endless white, distant voices and frantic noises ( _Jim, Jim you must stay with me_ …) the black, endless black, when will it end…when will the drifting end?… _the ship…home…  
_  
  
 _I can feel you everywhere…  
  
  
I am everywhere, as are you. I can see you, Jim… your essence.  
  
…you are brilliant…  
  
  
Mr. Spock, you’ll make me blush.  
_  
  
 _I merely referred-  
_  
  
Spock stopped suddenly as he felt his essence ignite like wildfire. He saw the source as Jim’s own essence; extending out, reaching into him and  _feeling_ … as always, contact with Jim’s essence enlivened his own.  
  
  
 _Are you sure its never done that for anyone else?  
  
  
I am certain. Nobody before you…  
_  
  
Kirk was briefly mesmerized, watching the star like formations within Spock’s essence come to life, lustrous and captivating…  
  
  
 _Wait_.  
  
  
Kirk withdrew abruptly, needing to at least fool himself into thinking he could concentrate. He felt Spock’s own amusement at that thought.  
  
  
 _Wait, Spock…please, I need to know before anything else- I can‘t think until I know what‘s been happening aboard my ship. Put my mind to rest. **Tell**  me. I need to be updated, I… need to be aware of what‘s happening on the ship. What’s happened without me?   
_  
  
 _Doctor McCoy has submitted a formal request to Starfleet, seeking my aid in your recovery as Mr. Scott maintains temporary command.  
  
  
Then Scotty has a lot on his plate…  
  
  
I assure you, Mr. Scott is not without assistance. In my time participating in this healing process, I have not neglected my duties… nor the excess responsibilities I have taken upon myself in your absence.   
_  
  
 _And yourself? Have you been taking care of **yourself**?_  
  
  
Jim was already being shown the answer all around him. Spock could not hide the flicker of guilt, not with every part exposed to Jim.  
  
  
 _I see how it is. But you would have told me otherwise if I hadn’t been staring right into your head, wouldn’t you? …you know, to neglect oneself is most illogical, Mr. Spock.  
  
  
Vulcans have the capability to maintain alert awareness for extended periods of time in stressful circumstances- without the aid of resting periods- similar to your human ability to maintain irregular, uncommon strength for brief intervals of time aided by spurts of adrenaline._  
  
  
 _And that’s all fine and dandy for your Vulcan half, Mr. Spock. It’s the human half of you that you’re pushing that I’m worried about.  
  
  
Enough. We must first address the matters that are immediate. There is much for you to know, but now is not the appropriate juncture. We must first focus on your well being, and returning you safely into consciousness. There is nothing you can do for the ship, yourself, nor I in your current disposition. I am going to begin the healing process at once- for the longer the meld, the more likely the bonding. You must submit control to me in order for this to take place. Submit to me wholly.  
  
  
Are you saying you’re taking command, Spock?  
  
  
I will do what I must. All I ask is that you obey.  
  
  
…I trust you.  
  
  
Then let it commence… prepare yourself, as this sensation may feel quite foreign to your human mind…  
_  
  
It was thought coming together until the beginning and end dissolved; essences lapping like the lazy strokes of wave, grasping at beach rocks… there was a fathomless, surreal element, the physical sensation transitioning into a numbness that truly did feel otherworldly. Jim felt out of himself, almost filled to the brim by another,  _ **too** full_, the strangest pressure he had ever felt ( _I am disjointed I am scattered_!) and it was coming from within-  
  
  
 _It is alright, Jim. It is natural for your body to reject what is happening to it in the beginning- as you are not a telepath, the human body views what is happening as an outside intrusion, and therefore a danger.  
  
  
I’m not scared, Spock. Don’t stop…  
_  
  
Words, ancient words that Jim did not understand… the oldest of Vulcan tongue, so far back that humans would have no knowledge of the utterances; the voice that uttered them was Spock’s, impossibly gentle and deep. The flailing panic that Jim’s human instincts had felt necessary to produce began to settle into an acceptance of the sensations. Gradually, the feeling became less foreign, and Kirk relaxed and accepted Spock wholly.   
  
  
 _Fascinating, the adaptability of humans…you acclimate so easily to any new environment.  
  
  
Thank you Mr. Spock, I’m happy I can keep raising the bar.  
_  
  
Slowly, cautiously, the Vulcan swayed their essences apart bit by bit… with meticulous care, withdrew the many parts of his inner self; pulling back from the essence of Jim Kirk. It was difficult, to willingly bring himself back from one who fit him so ideally. Like an elegant landing after a turbulent flight, Kirk suddenly felt very silent in his own mind. It was an eerie, yet serine sensation he could never remember feeling before. His eyes were not opened, but he still felt a changed man.  
  
  
 _What happened to me, Spock.  
  
  
It is done. You will return to consciousness shortly. For now, our bodies rest in the aftermath of the healing...  
  
  
I mean… what, happened to me…  **this** time… that got me stuck in sickbay?   
  
  
You were impaled, Jim. Terribly.  
_  
  
 _I wasn’t aware there was an alternative to terrible, when referring to being impaled.  
  
  
Let me rephrase. The damage was immense. Your will to live was greater even than that, thankfully.   
  
  
And how did I get back to the ship?  
  
  
I retrieved you.   
_  
  
 _And put yourself at risk? … **Again**? Spock…  
  
  
I will thank you not to correct my actions. You are my priority, as both my Captain and my friend.   
  
  
That’s very emotional of you, Mr. Spock.  
  
_  
Kirk could feel Spock’s Vulcan half clench at the word, an embarrassment of sorts surrounding it, but it was quickly abolished. His human side seemed so easy to contact now, with all the parts on display and within reach.   
  
  
 _Indeed it is. I am not typically prone to emotionalism. Unfortunately, it has been a rather emotional coupling of weeks. Jim… I believed you might expire. I have never known… distress, such as that. Nor have I felt more useless.  
  
  
Evidently not useless, seeing you got me here. I’m living aren’t I? I’m communicating with you right now. Because of you.  
_  
  
Jim knew that his Vulcan was quite aware of his thoughts, but he could not help his own interest in Spock’s human side. With it at his disposal, it was hard to ignore an opportunity so rare. He caressed the small bundle of emotion and free thought, felt it kindle into a roar as his essence came in contact with it.  
  
  
 _I don’t understand how your people could find shame in something so lovely…  
  
  
I sometimes ponder it myself. But it is a case of opposite worlds, of species and beliefs. There is not ugliness in either, only differences. Significant differences. Except I often contemplate if these two existences were ever meant to inhabit the same mind…  
_  
  
 _If they weren’t, **you**  wouldn’t be here. Therefore, they’re certainly meant to be here- perhaps more than any human or Vulcan who stands alone.  
  
  
Flattery, Jim?   
  
  
Honesty. You’re important, Spock. You are a genius among Vulcans, regardless of their doubt in you. You’ve more than proved yourself to them; you intimidate with your intelligence. You turned down a place at the Vulcan Science Academy- the first Vulcan to do so. You are more brilliant than any human who has ever lived. Perhaps that’s why you belong here. You’re not an outcast of both words, but above what they can offer. A mind like yours looks beyond what is already in the books; what can already be learned. A mind like yours needs to be the first to do many great things, because you’ve done everything else.  
  
  
Now I know you flatter me, Jim.  
  
  
Well shut up and take it, then. It’s about time somebody told you you’re awesome.  
  
_  
A bright flare of amusement came to life within the human essence that Kirk was observing.   
  
  
 _Spock… might I… could I explore this side of you?  
  
  
You may… but it is inadvisable…_    
  
  
Kirk extended to connect with it, but Spock withdrew sheepishly.  
  
  
 _You should not, Jim.  
  
  
Oh just humour me!   
  
  
You may think less of me once you learn this part of me.  
  
  
I would never think less of you. Now stop treating it like its Cinderella and let it out of the closet.  
_  
  
Spock was temporarily taken off guard by how illogical that statement was, and Jim took that opportunity to submerge himself in all the human there was to find in Spock.  
  
  
 _My God, Spock… I had no idea all of this was inside you…  
_  
  
Kirk was mesmerized by all he saw and felt. He couldn‘t seem to pull his interest away from that all too familiar feeling portion of human essence that lay protected within the Vulcan mind. The human in Spock was beautiful; beautiful as every part of him was, but unique in a class all its own. It was a touch mischievous, it took indulgence in witty humour; even pride lay there, pride in the Enterprise and her crew, all they did, all they stood for. Fondness… such a limitless,  **great**  fondness for Jim, for the Doctor.  
  
Jim had always loved Spock’s human side, had always been reduced to softness inside at the mere peek of it on the hard Vulcan exterior. Yet he had never gotten to know it like  _this_. Such painful self-consciousness, such endearing loyalty so fierce it was almost illogical. Passion… there was passion inside, and  _so_   _much_  of it. Having access to that part of him now so freely made Jim love it doubly so; he could see the beauty of it, how genuine and almost naïve it was- so untainted and pure and loving, as it was so fiercely guarded by the Vulcan half.  _So beautiful, so beautiful…  
_  
  
 _…Spock?  
  
  
…Jim._    
  
  
He felt it then, the withdrawal of Spock, and he briefly felt the agony of being apart from him. Then the warmth returned to him tenfold, the curling of an essence about his own. It felt hot and comforting, like the draping of a heated blanket, or the embrace of a hot summer night.  
  
  
 _I am most commonly ashamed of such admittance, but in your sole presence I find myself incapable of experiencing self-consciousness or hesitance. Jim, there was… fear in me. A fear I had been yet to experience up until the event of your life fading beneath my hands. I wish to control all that the memory invokes in me. I have spent much time in meditation, attempting to alleviate the sting of remembrance. I have not been successful. My human side has often proven to be a challenge, but never like this. And yet, I find… physically joining with you now… that it brings me a comfort I have not felt in all these hours here in sickbay. It is not logical, but it is so. Is that not disturbingly… human of me?  
_  
  
The strength of Jim’s fondness at this was overwhelming, and it translated into a blinding golden illumination; his essence absolutely resplendent to behold.  
  
  
 _Very human, Mr. Spock. But certainly not disturbing._  
  
  
A dark coil of concern and a touch of self loathing emitted from the darker of the two essences.  
  
  
 _They should disturb you, as they do I. If I were to act upon these emotions, I would jeopardize all that you have worked and lived for in all the time I have known you, and the years prior. Would you forgive me if it were to dissolve with time, and you were to be left with no command, no future in Starfleet, and nothing to show for it at the end of all things? Would you view me as you do now, one to be trusted and needed? Would you look at me with the same respect and affection that you hold now, or would the sight of me bring bitterness to your heart? I do not wish to be a slow poison to all that you stand for… to all that you are, Jim. I could never bear that.  
  
  
So this is what all of this mess boils down to. Something so simple.  
_  
  
Of all the things Spock had expected from Kirk in answer to all he had just confessed, that might have been the farthest from his estimations. Then again, being a man of logic, his own conclusions rarely ran the same track as Kirk’s.  
  
  
 _…I could conjure many descriptive words to apply to this situation Jim, but I confess that ‘simple’ would not be among them.  
  
  
But it is. Because you’re scared, Spock. You’re telling me, in your own elaborate way… that you’re quite, simply, scared of all this. Is that what’s kept you back from me? Fear for me? Fear of what would happen, once we went past that point where we could get back to normalcy? Because I do believe that is an illogical effort, as our lives are based upon the unknown, the unnatural. We don’t  **know**  normal, Spock. Because we aren’t it. All of us aren’t, or we wouldn’t be out here. Now, tell me the truth. Are you scared?  
_  
  
 _You apply the word ‘fear’ to me, ‘scared’. A human emotion?  
  
  
And do you deny feeling it?_  
  
  
The pause that followed was uncharacteristically extended.  
Spock’s inner voice was quieter than it had ever been when it returned.  
  
  
… _I do not._  
  
  
 _Are you scared because of what you think I feel, or because of what you know you do?  
_  
  
Kirk’s essence seemed to stroke and soothe; to comfort Spock’s in a gentle pattern.   
  
  
 _My own feelings previously have, and continue to disturb me.  
  
  
Then I’ll ask you something that might frighten you more. But answer it with the same honesty you’ve given me throughout all the years that I’ve known you.  
_  
  
Jim felt and saw the myriad of reluctant and tense emotion emitting from Spock at the words, but he continued to soothe and placate. He knew that for all of Spock’s uncertainty, he still trusted Jim with his very being.   
  
  
 _I will endeavour to do so…_  
  
  
The pause not only spoke of Spock’s fear, but of Jim’s. Fear had never stopped James T Kirk before, and it wouldn’t now.  
  
  
 _Spock… do you love me?_  
  
  
Instantly, he felt Spock’s Vulcan half attempt to steal away from him, and the guilt of his human half at the cruelty of his Vulcan instincts.  
  
  
 _Jim…_  
  
  
Kirk held on strongly, refusing to part from the other.  
  
  
 _Please, Spock. Don’t deny me when I **need** this.  
_  
  
Spock’s essence fell lax on his own, but the instinct to recoil away from this emotionalism was still there, still strong. The Vulcan was pushing himself to meet Kirk’s needs. Jim had never witnessed Spock’s human half taking such a precedence in all the time he’d known him, and he waited with a great patience inside that he’d never been aware of. Then again, they tended to push themselves to the straining limits when it came to each other. He would take whatever time, whatever risk, whatever humiliation it took for Spock. It had always been that way, and it always would. When the answer finally came, Jim was shell shocked by it.   
  
  
 _I do, in fact, love you. But that love is born from the unwavering, immeasurable respect I bear for you. It begun long before these primal urges, and I do not wish it to be diminished or slandered by my inability to suppress my human desires._  
  
  
Kirk could feel everything around him, everything about him… trembling,  **trembling** … ( _I do, in fact, love you_.)  
  
  
 _And if I asked for both?  
  
  
…I deny you next to nothing. Do I not?_  
  
  
Spock was in a whirlwind of James T Kirk, lost in the whippings of chaotic, scrambling emotion. It was frightening, it was fascinating, it was exotic… it was addictive. Kirk was so boggled, frantic to grasp the enormity of what was being revealed to him. He could not understand his own appeal to Spock, how something so flawed, imperfect… so human could appeal to one so superior, so brilliant… so out of reach as a lover. He could not comprehend, a mesh of delight and disbelief.   
  
 _But **why**? Why me, Spock? I’ve seen you with others. None of it has ever had an effect on you. I’ve never seen you fall for someone without some ill effect to follow it. What am I going to do that’s going to change that now? What makes this any different?_    
  
  
The appearance of Spock’s essence was now so close to his physical form that it really did feel surreal now; as a dream might. Was it all a dream? Had he really joined so intimately with his First Officer? It felt too good to be real… Spock reached to him, two fingers extended, which Jim met tentatively. He looked from their hands to Spock’s face, curiosity ignited by the gesture.  
  
  
 _None of them possessed an effect on me, for none seemed to move me as you have…_  
  
  
A raised brow.   
  
  
 _And unfortunately, insist on continuing to do so._  
  
  
 _Happy to be of service, Mr. Spock…  
_  
  
Kirk came forward, eager to love Spock in a human way as well as a Vulcan. He did not understand most of this, did not understand his inner self or Spock’s completely. He did not even know what effect this was having on both of them, only that it all felt so right, that he felt all of him and all of Spock, that it was too much to bear, that he must touch him this way,  _any_ way…   
  
  
 _Jim… we should **not** …_  
  
  
But he did not shy away when Kirk’s mouth lay softly upon him, first finding a sharp cheekbone, then a pointed ear, grazing along a slanted brow… and finally, meeting a shapely pair of lips. So quiet but deep, a growl of passion sounded in the Vulcan’s throat; but it was all around them. The deep rumble of Spock’s voice vibrated through Jim’s body, their essences one. Every part of Spock that was there with him filled him up, made him feel like a complete being… no, even  **more**  than that. It felt like the product of years, whittling away at a marble slab to create a historic sculpture of art. It felt destined, indestructible, something to be revered… the perfect fit… so, so utterly flawless, comfortable…  _perfect_ …  
  
  
 _I have felt this once before.  
_  
  
Whispered against lips, Jim’s confession brought the situation to a new level of unexpected. Spock came out of the absolute reverie of being one with Jim, stunned to his core. Kirk could here that brilliant mind whirring away at this impossible thought Jim had just had. Never had their essences merged like this, never had there been a cause for such a deep intertwining of their beings…  
  
  
 _Not the healing process, but the complete merging of our essences…  
  
  
That is impossible, Jim.  
  
  
You might insist that it is. Still, I know that I have. I know it, Spock… I’m sure of it. In dream…  
_  
  
The perfect crystalline tendril that had been seen by Jim only once before was suddenly before him now; as indefectible and pure as it had been the time before. It’s luminosity was unparalleled; it was so untainted, its many facets gleaming and captivating them into silence.  
  
  
It appeared deceptively delicate, as its foundation was both pliant and interchangeable. It freely transitioned between the softness of silk and the firm indestructible consistency of diamond...  
  
  
 _Jim, you must not connect with it…  
_  
  
That’s just what Jim intended to do. As he reached to touch it, he felt more than heard Spock’s harsh reprimand, his opposition. Kirk suddenly felt as though he were being pulled back, as if the surroundings were not as sharp to his vision as it had been before, and he knew he was sifting out of this place.   
  
  
 _Spock, don’t stop me…  
  
  
I must. You know not what I know…  
  
  
I want this!  
  
  
You cannot understand all that will follow if I permit this…  
_  
  
All was fading so fast, too fast, and he clawed to stay rooted where he was, desperate not to leave… do not want to leave, do not want to separate…do not want to be separate inside anymore…  
  
  
 _Let it go, Jim.  
_  
  
Fading, fading, and Spock was distancing himself… the tendril withdrew, and Kirk felt a great, dizzying loss… felt as though he were being cut out of a picture, or vacuumed out of existence…  
  
  
 _It isn’t fair. You’re making me leave this place…it isn’t right. I want to stay…  
  
  
It is not the time. You are unwell, you are not yourself.  
  
  
I’m fine and you know it! Don’t do this to me, don’t do this, I want you here… don’t force me to be alone again, not alone in here again Spock  **please** …  
  
  
You often make it a struggle for me to do what is right for you. Believe me, as I am always honest with you, Jim. It is as difficult for myself as it is for you…  
_  
  
As the last of his essence was pulled apart from Spock’s, the great loss was near sickening. It was another alien feeling ( _so odd, so **empty**_ …) and it felt stranger still, that suddenly it seemed there was too much space inside himself. ( _So alone inside…‘how lonely you are’_ …) It was vacant, the emptiness needed to be filled… ( _come back, come **back** , come back to me_…) He did not know how he found it in himself to coherently say anything more. But he did, and the question was strange:  
  
  
 _Where are you sleeping, Spock._  
  
  
The question took the Vulcan off guard, puzzled him slightly- until he became aware of its relevance. Soon, they would leave this place- return to the waking world, at long last. Be completely separate again. Jim wanted to know where he could be found, once that happened. This reality did something to Spock- arose such a fiercely tender feeling at the trust, the mutual wish to remain together in body and mind.  
  
  
Still shaken, on the brink of total solitary confinement within their separate bodies, Spock managed to raise his head, and captivating hazel rushed to meet intelligent onyx. Wanted to, needed to see each other, before all was stolen from them- before they returned to harsh reality.  
  
  
 _Beside you, Jim. I’m here…  
_  
  
(‘ _As if you’ve always been there, and always will_.’)  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 _Yea, though we venture through the valley of the stars;  
Who couldn’t be together, and who could not be apart…  
_  
-Eurythmics  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Kirk awoke, his wide eyes the only indication of his surprise, he found himself in sickbay. In those same few seconds of time, he grew distinctly aware of Spock’s presence at his bedside- the hot grip of his hand in his own. The blue clad form gave a slight jerk from where he’d leaned over and fallen asleep against the bed, passed out in his own arms. His head came up, and he looked from Jim to the form they both became suddenly (glaringly) aware of.   
  
  
He had watched everything silently unfold, witnessed the healing from the outside, and it had been so bizarre to stand there and see the coming together of two people, of two minds, and yet never see what they saw at all. Still, that very scene was one that would stand the test of time in his memory- those two hands clasped as though gripping their last lifeline, in the midst of a violent white squall. It was a moment in time never to be forgotten; and he’d been a part of it, simply because he had managed to shut up for once. The things you are able to see, once the tongue is silenced…  
  
  
The form bounced on his toes, and withheld laughter ferociously.   
  
  
“That’s some healing trance. Wouldn‘t you say, gentlemen?”  
  
  
The Southern drawl inquired teasingly, then laughing pale blue eyes turned and disappeared with a muffled guffaw- into the office owned by the Chief Medical Officer.  
Spock and Kirk exchanged glances and concerns through their continued contact, their hands still abstractly clasped together as they shared thoughts which easily mirrored each other… equal in horrified, flushing mortification.  
McCoy knew.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
I believe you all might understand why this particular chunk of writing took so long. The Vulcan mind meld has been a much discussed point of interest on Star Trek, but it has always been observed from the eyes of an outsider; we never get a peek inside, to delve into what exactly goes on in there. Well this was me whetting my own curiosity (and hopefully yours) on what a mind meld might really look and feel like as an insider. It was definitely a challenging and exciting thing for me to write, but it was endless re-write after re-write... after all, it had to at least feel believable. I hope I did it justice!  
  
Now, I am about to have a lot of fun with this. I'm very excited. ^_^ See you all very soon!


	9. 1 + 1 = 2

* * *

 

Bones was sitting in his office, grueling over his workload for the day as the sounds of enthused conversation filled up the background. He couldn’t help grinning to himself, just enjoying the lively patterns of Jim’s voice- and how absolutely far from silent Spock had grown since his awakening six days ago.  A stack of data pads had slowly but surely begun growing at Kirk’s bedside, his anxiousness to get back to work as prevalent as it had ever been. No matter how many times Bones came out and confiscated them, growling that he needed to soak up all the rest he could, Spock would sneak them back in. If Kirk demanded to have them, Spock would always find a way. No matter how many data pads the Doctor snatched out of their clutches, he would come back out of his office a few hours later to find the stack rebuilding itself again, and the Captain and First Officer would look up rather guiltily from whatever data pad they were engrossed in.  
  
  
 The Captain had been groaning and counting down every hour he had left of lying in sickbay down to the last hours left in this day; his final day of being ‘caged against his will’ in Sickbay. With Scotty and Spock now in temporary command, Kirk had a consistent link to all the happenings on the ship- and he  _insisted_ on regular, timely and thorough updates. (That was the new excuse Spock had, for frequenting Jim’s bedside.) Now, however, Bones couldn’t help but notice that this apparent ‘work meeting’ taking place outside his door had dwindled into a much debated and controversial topic. It was one that seemed to be a favourite of Jim’s since he’d regained consciousness, as he couldn‘t resist bringing it up on a regular basis...

 

 

“…And you  **insist** that you acted out of duty!… yet, I thought I told you to get behind those rocks. In fact, that was an order. And here I assumed I was the rule bender around here,  _sir_. Because  **I** gave an order-”

 

 

“To be accurate Jim, it was more akin to a frantic shout of hysteria-”

 

 

“Yeah,  _yeah_ … And you’re the one who’s supposed to have superior hearing? All the other crewmen got behind those rocks, and you didn’t. Hysteria or not, you understood what I said, didn’t you?”

 

 

“Quite clearly. I also understood my primary directives as First Officer, and all that my position entails. It is the duty of the ships First Officer to ensure the safety of the ships captain. We are sworn to protect our commanding officer- to return the Captain to the ship, his crew, and his duties of command at all costs if it is within our professional capability. This includes the rather high price of endangering our own lives… if circumstances of such a dire nature should present themselves.”

  
“Ok wait a minute. …You mean to tell me you’ve already prepared for this argument today?”

  
“Indeed.”

  
“Great. Well, we’re having it again anyway. You‘re not the only one who‘s prepared.”

 

 

“Make no error. I have already won it, Jim. But I shall endeavour to humour you.”

 

 

“You’ve won nothing but my wrath, mister. I won’t settle for this. What you did was take an unnecessary gamble-”

 

 

“A very  **necessary** gamble, following standard procedure-”

 

 

 “Absolutely  _not_ necessary if we both wind up dead!”

 

 

“Which we did not.”

 

 

 “Nonetheless, Mr. Spock! Alive or dead, the issue surrounding the matter stands. It is imperative that you be reminded that this-”

 

 

“Is the result of my following orders, and protocol during an emergency situation. Questioning it, is questioning the authority of Starfleet Command and the orders issued by Starfleet; which we have sworn to obey as officers of said fleet.”

An extended silence that McCoy knew was filled by a raised winged victory brow, most likely aimed at the mightiest scowl to ever be worn, next to the Doctor‘s own.

“Nor would you find it beneficial to forget this fact, Jim.”

 

  
When Kirk’s voice returned, it was absolutely  _drowning_ in sour, moody disdain. It was evident that Kirk was still immensely unsatisfied, and that this was merely a battle lost, not the war when it came to this issue. His stubborn nature would allow no less.

“Alright, dually noted. And get that smug look off your face.”

 

 

“I was not aware that I possessed a facial expression at this juncture.”

 

 

“Technically you don’t, but I know that look. You think you’ve won this round, don’t you Spock.”

 

 

“The thought had occurred to me.”

 

 

“Yeah, well I’ll let you have it. This is a one time offer, so call me generous. If I wasn‘t tired-”

 

 

“I… believe, I have already won, Jim. But thank you, I presume, is the correct response for your alleged generosity.”

 

 

A nearly undetectable Vulcan smile could be heard in the deep voice, and it was so warm that Bones wondered if he actually _was_ smiling out there. McCoy tilted back his chair, observing through a crack in the office door as his curiosity was ignited by their casual bantering. Spock was sitting on the side of Jim that was facing the office, in plain view to the Doctors discreet observations. Bones was startled to discover that he was, in some miniscule and muted way, smiling.

The dark eyes positively grinned, the barest quirk at one corner of the lips.  
It’s answer was a rather human frown; all but the enamoured, amused hazel eyes positively glowered. A golden hand lifted & covered an expression, which one might distinctly describe as a Vulcan’s equivalent to ‘ _smug son of a bitch_.’   
  
That small movement nearly blew McCoy’s mind, as he had never known  _anyone_ who was permitted to touch the Vulcan in such a manner. Spock had always shied away from a touch, flinching at physical contact with emotionally overwhelming humans. In fact, Bones had never known anyone to physically touch Spock outside a concerned arm grab, or perhaps a brief lapse brought on by the heat of a dire situation. He had certainly not witnessed him being touched in such a casual, offhand way; with such simple intimacy.

 

 

Though Jim appeared annoyed, it was a hoax. The gentle contact of his fingertips had given way into an unexpected mingling of essences between himself and Spock, with his warm thoughts and honest mind easily opened and viewed by the touch telepath beneath his hand.

 

 

“That’s it, I’ve heard enough from you mister. Get out. Go to the bridge, Spock. And give me some peace and quiet in the time I have left here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Being in the Captain’s chair wasn’t his favourite place to be, as it usually indicated that Jim had nearly succeeded in getting himself killed again. Compared to the terrible latter ideas he had entertained in his quarters the day Jim had been injured, these shifts had been the lesser of the plausible evils he could conjure.

 

 

Yes, Jim had gone through another near death experience.

 

 

But he  _had_ gone through it, and come out battered but breathing on the other side.

 

 

He still existed.

 

 

And for Spock, sitting in a chair that wasn’t his for a few hours was more than a bearable exchange for that. After all, his stay in this seat would not be a permanent one.

 

 

_I hope fervently, a day such as that shall never be conceived…_

But that day was not today. As McCoy had so rudely pointed out with a rare but mischievous grin on his face:

“Don’t get comfortable Spock. He’s already chompin’ at the bit to get back up here…” He grinned, lifting one corner of his mouth in his typical wry fashion. “Still, someone’s gotta keep Jim’s chair warm till then.”

Spock certainly had not experienced what human beings would call excitement, and anticipation at the knowledge that Kirk had only a few more hours of being a prisoner of Dr. McCoy‘s sickbay. A few more hours, then himself and Jim could get back to their much loved jobs of gambling, discovery and history making. He also had  **not** experienced boredom with the mundane rituals of the day-to-day maintenance on the ship (staying out of trouble, the Good Doctor called it), or an anxiousness to see Kirk return to the bridge and continue their exploring and adventures.

That would be too human.   
  
  
He glanced discreetly down at his datapad, and saw that Jim had a mere four hours left until the holding time McCoy had demanded of him was up. And unbeknownst to anyone aboard, Spock raised a hand to his mouth- adequately concealing his small, thankful grin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Little things that will change you forever_

_May appear from way out of the blue_

_Making fools of everybody, who don’t understand…_

_This is **love**._

_-_ George Harrison

 

* * *

 

 

Bones was replaying the conversation he’d overheard a few days ago in his head, mulling it over and coupling it with the healing trance incident; the hand holding…

Kirk had been permitted to return to his place on the bridge- and in the days he‘d settled back in there, he had predictably begun flooding himself with information and work to catch up on- pushing his days longer and longer, avoiding breaks and sleep where he could get away with it. He would fit in all he could manage before Bones hunted him down, and forced him to take rest in his quarters. But surprisingly, the Captain’s physical condition was not the primary concern that had been bouncing around in that medical mind of his lately. McCoy had been watching his two best friends carefully, and he was fitting together a jigsaw puzzle that had been sitting in front of his eyes with all parts scattered for some time now. He felt stupid for neglecting to sort it out sooner.

 

 

He was currently working out one very simple, very obvious, but altogether quite startling equation.

 

 

The Good Doctor had been trained to work under the most bizarre and dire situations one could ever conceive. He had seen things that many humans couldn’t dare to imagine. He had been in some of the hardest and most demanding scenarios space could conjure, and he had pushed his way through them all, one by one.

 

 

In all his years of service with Starfleet,  **this** was his most challenging moment.

 

 

Let it be understood that Bones wasn’t a terribly sweet man, but it also wasn’t fair to say that he was lacking in warmth. He was indeed quite warm, within his own unique brand of Southern charm.   
  
  
He loved his Saurian Brandy a little too fondly (and the evidence of this could be found in the now humorous amount of times he’d woken up in the morning sans pants, wondering at what point in time that they had gone missing.)

He also tended to use colourful language a tad more than would be deemed necessary.

With that said, he tended to regularly contradict any hastily drawn ideas that would be formed about him in the above statements.

Because that man gave  _more_ of himself than what his profession demanded of him, which was often a tall order to begin with, being the Chief Medical Officer of a Starship.  
And that’s what gave him such a depth- a wonderful, and often painful, keen insight.

He was (as many would gladly confess), an overly emotional being- a true short fuse, passion and fury.

He was blatantly honest, both endearingly and to a fault.  
  
  
He was a Doctor, and a damn good one at that.

  
  
He was often blunt enough to bring tears to a young ensigns eyes. (Unintentionally. He just scared people who didn’t know him very well, sometimes.)

But there was one thing that the Good Doctor most certainly was  **not**.

Leonard H. McCoy was not an idiot.

1 + 1 had always and would always equal 2 - he’d never been one to struggle with equations. If you threw the cards down for him, obviously he had no trouble reading them.

 

 

Facts are facts.

The sky is blue.

Uhura can sing like a Goddess.

(Scotty  _cannot_.)

The galaxy is huge.

And his two best friends in the entirety of that massive, terrifying, trouble making galaxy, were more than  just co-workers.  More than having a few beers and scoping out some ass. He wasn’t sure if they were entirely aware of that yet, or willing to admit it. But he knew  _he_ was quite aware of it.

 

 

And that made absolutely no God damn sense in hell at that moment, but at least he was suddenly very relieved about the future of them both. (He felt like a real prize dumb ass, not figuring this out sooner.) It was so obvious, so simple. What would Kirk have ever done without Spock? …what would Spock have ever done without Kirk? All those women who had come and gone in between, and yet here  **they** both remained still, side by side. He honestly couldn’t imagine them apart. Never did, never could. Hadn’t that told him  _anything_?

  
  
_Shit_!

Still. Still, no matter. If they were going to stick together, however they decided to, Bones could be confident they’d both stay alive. As long as they stayed together, they’d always have the best person around to get them out of a shit storm. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was alright by the Good Doctor. Seeing that keeping those two alive was usually his job (an extremely STRESSFUL, nearly impossible one at that), it sure would make his life a whole hell of a lot easier this way… and, in turn, he probably wouldn’t die early because of all the fretting. What was there to lose.

 

 

_Jesus_.

 

 

_Kirk and Spock._

_1 + 1 = 2._

His two best friends were always kind of…  _married_. Right under his nose, and he didn’t sniff it out. It took him how many years to figure this out?!

 

 

_My sweet merciful- it’s slapping me in the Goddamn face. And **they** don’t even know it yet._

He shakily picked up his favourite tumbler, almost dropped it, re-adjusted it and gripped it.

 

 

_Lord… oh Lord. They actually don’t even realize they’re married yet! Ah, **God** man, where’s that flask…_

His other unsteady hand scrabbled in his desk drawer until he found the small metal container- unscrewed it- and poured a quivering stream of courage into his glass.

 

  
_And I do. Dammit, I do. Has the galaxy gone mad?!_

He lifted the glass to his lips and let a stab of amber whet them- tipping the contents back.

 

 

_…again?!_

The tumbler now drained, he slammed the glass down much harder than was necessary. A brief silence followed as the liquor made itself known in the Good Doctor’s throat.

 

 

“You can do this, Leonard.”

 

 

With the words out of his lips, he realized it didn’t make him feel any less scared shitless.

 

  
_That’s it. Looks like I’ve got to straighten the damn universe out. By myself…_

Another quick shot, bypassing the tumbler and drinking it straight from the metal container. A tiny shudder, a sharp huff of breath outward.

_…Again._

 

  
Piercing blue eyes stabbed across the room at the clock. It was late, but not too late. Jim would certainly be in his quarters by now, however reluctantly- but  **definitely** not asleep. Knowing Jim and his habits over the course of  the days that had recently gone by, he would pass out at his desk first before willingly going to sleep. His intense gaze then whipped toward the office exit, every ounce convinced that he would make use of it  _right now_ , because this had to be done. A Goddamn intervention was in order. Instead of going for it, he crumbled into himself in his desk chair, letting out a heavy half sigh half groan. Head now in hands, he despaired.

 

“Aw Jesus there’s no way in hot hell I’m doin’ this.” He mourned, dropping his forehead down to meet the table a little faster than he should have. “Ungh- Dammit!” Whipping his head back up to rub at his stinging forehead, he glared back toward the exit. With his jaw locked stubbornly, he stood reluctant and grim. He put on the mightiest scowl he’d ever conjured, determined.

 

 

_Well, that’s that then.  It’s been long enough- someone’s gotta do it…_

He shook his head.

 

 

“Damn  _idiots_.”

 

 

He caught his own expression in the mirror across the room, then paused to let out a guffaw- a combination of disbelief and anxiety relief. Having pondered and fussed over what he  _really_ thought about this new breed of crazy, he decided he was actually quite down with it. Technically, he always  **had** been… he’d just never properly tuned in until now.

 

  
He moved to carry out the only logical ( _there’s that damn word again…_ )plan of action from here on in after whittling away at such a difficult conclusion.

 

  
He went to collect his oldest, finest bottle of Brandy.

 

  
And then, he headed to the quarters of James T. Kirk.

 

 

* * *

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

_It is great to be back! I would love to hear from you. Until next time, take care. You shall be hearing from me._

 

* * *

  
_  
_


	10. A Conversation Never Had

_Well here it is. The moment I have been waiting to write since I started all this. Everybody cheer Bones on, because he is sure as hot hell going to need it._    
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Bones!” Jim greeted cheerily from his desk, as the Doctor had predicted. Working till he dropped again... When McCoy neglected to immediately drop into the seat facing Kirk, the Captain lifted his eyes with unguarded surprise. “Doctor… is everything alright?”  
  
  
“Nope. We gotta talk, Jim.”  Bones declared, hands folded behind his back- cleverly hiding the liquor for the moment. Now the Doctor crossed the room, and Jim stood and rounded the desk to meet him, his back gone rigid. Kirk was wearing his Captains face, and McCoy raised a hand against it.  
  
  
“It’s not about business. We’re not talking shop, so relax.”  
  
  
Jim swept a hand over his face, wiping away the terrible possible red alert scenarios from his mind with it.  
  
  
“Relax? I don’t know what that word means anymore…”   
  
  
“Well I certainly do, and right now it’s my prescription for you. You need it.”  
  
  
And when the Doctor suddenly offered up a bottle of brandy from behind him, Kirk cracked a grin. “I should’ve known. What is it this time, Doc. A lady aboard catch your eye?” A heave of breath from Bones, and he closed his eyes briefly with a sound of sarcastic amusement.  
  
  
“If only… first things first.” The Doctor nabbed two glasses and promptly poured a generous portion into each. Kirk raised his eyebrows as he read the label of the bottle in McCoy’s hand.   
  
  
“Isn’t that the same brandy we were drinking-”  
  
  
“The night you forgot  _everything_ , including what your mother named you? Why yes, yes it is.”  
  
  
“Potent… then I’m certain that whatever you’ve come here to discuss, will be equally as potent.”  
  
  
A set of piercing blue eyes bore into Jim for a moment.  
  
  
“You’re not wrong.”  
  
  
He placed one glass next to where Kirk stood by the desk, and raised his own tumbler upward. He waited for the meeting clink of their glasses, and tipped his toward his lips in unison with Jim. “Sit.” McCoy ordered gruffly.  
  
  
“I’ll be honest, I’m still a little… disgruntled, that you’ve brought this bottle of Brandy.” The Captain swished his own helping of the burning liquid in its tumbler, his brow dented with concern as he stared.  “I think I’ll stand.”  
  
  
“If you recognize this bottle and know what’s good for you, you’ll sit.”   
  
  
Jim could be an agreeable man, and he decided to be one for the moment. He sat, feeling a coil of nervous fear winding around his insides in an unforgiving bind. Bones didn’t appear to be any better off than he was.  
  
  
“Before I open Pandora’s box, I’m uh… oh Jesus, I’m pourin’ us up another drink in advance.”  
  
  
Jim’s face was now showing the level of tension he was feeling as the Doctor poured him another brandy shot and laid it near his partially consumed one. He was at near breaking point as Bones swigged down the last of his own helping, then re-filled. “Bones, would you just-”  
  
  
“Alright Jim.” McCoy said in his firm, no nonsense tone as his glass hit the surface of the desk unceremoniously. “This is about Spock. And it’s about you.” They both met eyes for a startlingly tense moment, and then Jim bypassed what was left of his first drink to down the second tumbler in one go. His eyes did not return, but Bones pressed on. He knew Kirk well enough by now to know he was frightfully attentive, even when he did not appear to be. “Now I don’t want to have this talk. But once again the both of you have sucked me into another fucked up situation that I have no business being in. Still, it needs mending. Seein’ I’m a Doctor, I figure that might just be my forte. Now do I need to spell this out for you, or are we both still grown ups here?”  
  
  
Jim’s eyes were glaring holes into his desk now, his whole body rigid with the tension, and Bones could swear it was Jim’s thundering heart beat he was hearing in the silence of the room. Without looking up, Jim’s voice sounded nervous and rough when he responded quietly:  
  
  
“You say this is about Spock and I. And yet you’ve said nothing. I can’t comment if I don‘t know what we‘re talking about, Doctor.”  
  
  
“Then I guess we’re still in the playground. Seeing you’re not Spock, I’m going to have to ask you to stop insulting my intelligence. You know  **exactly**  what I mean when I say you and Spock. Now  _dammit_  man, talk to me!”  
  
  
Jim’s wide eyes finally met that harsh stare, startled, and there was a plea in them to take this no further. But he knew Bones was only good at taking orders when he wanted to be.  
  
  
“About what?” Kirk asked breathlessly - needlessly. Bones stood in front of Jim, his eyes never leaving the tumultuous hazel gaze turned up toward him. His hand tentatively sought out a shoulder, and he squeezed- as if trying to press the understanding deep into Kirk’s person with his fingertips.  
  
  
“Jim. I  **know**.”   
  
  
Recognition in the familiar eyes staring up at him, then horror- a dizzying, monstrous horror, and Jim stood up quicker than a whiplash- as if he’d do anything to get out of there right now. McCoy’s grip remained, and he used it to guide Jim back into his chair.  
  
  
“Whoa, there-”  
  
  
“We’re not going to talk about this.” Jim said darkly but sharply, his words quick and tight.  
  
  
“I think we are.”  
  
  
“There’s  _nothing to discuss_  Bones, now get out of here!”  
  
  
“Oh don’t spoon feed me bullshit Jim! You think I’m blind, deaf and dumb or something? You think I don’t know what‘s happening right in front of me?”  
  
  
“You’ve got nothing to worry about Doctor because I assure you there is  **nothing**  happening and I also assure you that nothing will. If you’ll excuse me-”  
   
  
“Now that’s what I was worried about.”  
  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
  
“Nothing. A whole damn lot of nothin’ happening, when something should distinctly be happening, Jim. Now I don’t know who’s fault it is, yours or that pointy eared bastards… I’d like to blame him, but you’re awfully stubborn yourself-”  
  
  
“We are  **not**  having this conversation Bones, because nothing is happening whether you or I or anyone else likes to think so or not! Now please-”  
  
  
“And what about you, Jim? Are you just going to lie to my face here and tell me you feel nothing about this?”   
  
  
“What… do you want me to say, Bones? Tell me, and I’ll say it  _just_  so we can stop talking about this.”   
  
  
“The truth!”  
  
  
“The truth? The truth doesn’t matter, because it won’t change the circumstance-”  
  
  
“ **Jim**!” The Doctor barked pleadingly, temporarily silencing the resilient man before him.  His voice returned much gentler than before: “You have no idea the kind of hell I went through just to stroll down here and talk to you about  _this_ , of all things. Now do me a God damn favor, would ya? Just go ahead and tell me the truth. …Now…do you love him?”  
  
  
Jim was glad that Bones had forced him to sit. He surely would have capsized. That temporarily took the fight out of Jim’s eyes, as they visibly softened at the question.  _Was this really happening right now?!_  
Slowly, ever so slowly and silently, Jim’s eyes drifted into his laps where his hands now lay in rest. He knew this was it, then. There was no escaping Leonard McCoy. Bones would strangle him before he would be allowed to leave this room without answering. He was caught. God dammit, he was caught. He began clasping his hands together, wringing them slightly, clearly indicating to Bones the true depth of his emotion on the matter.   
  
  
“I don’t lie to you Bones, and I… don’t intend to begin now.“ His head was now being held up by a hand, clasping his forehead in a gesture of frustration and  anxiety. He was trapped. “So I’ll tell you yes. Alright?“ Kirk quickly held up a hand of silence as Bones opened his mouth to speak. “But regrettably, that is, irrelevant.” A sip from what Jim had left in his tumbler, and he didn’t complain when Bones added to it once more- almost a sympathetic motion.   
  
  
“I’m fairly certain that your First Officer would beg to differ. There are many ugly and pretty words to attach to love, Jim. Irrelevant isn’t one of those words.”  
  
  
 “I know what he thinks about it. I know that he’s scared. And I know that he won’t take a risk that high. And I won’t force him to. I won’t push him to do something he doesn’t feel is right. He knows what’s best for him-”  
  
  
“Does he? We all know he’s capable of catering to his Vulcan half. What about what his human half wants?”  
  
“Spock calls himself a Vulcan for a reason, Bones. He knows damn well what he wants.” Jim’s voice was terse and a touch angry, but the Good Doctor would not be deterred. He knew Jim’s temper only showed its face when he was feeling particularly passionate about the matter at hand.  
  
  
“And what do  **you**  want, Jim?”  
  
  
“ _I want Spock around_!” Kirk smacked a hand down angrily on the desk to reiterate his point  before sitting back in his chair; almost defeated. “That won’t happen if I keep meddling. Do you understand? I stand to gain nothing and lose **everything**  if I keep this up. I’m human, Bones. I’m a human man, and his Commanding Officer. I couldn’t be a more ill fit for him even if he were completely human, never mind that Vulcan half of his. Even if anything were to happen, it would never be on this ship. Spock would never consent to that.”  
  
  
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Bones was bracing his arms against the desk, and he shoved moodily away from it before locking that iron gaze back onto Kirk.  “Jim, do you know how much can happen in a couple years? What if somebody else comes along and-”  
  
  
“Then somebody else comes along. And Spock is entitled to that somebody else, or anyone else he should so desire. He’s a grown man, he’s my finest officer- I owe him my life many times over, and he’s earned every luxury that can be afforded him. And if that luxury, ends up being somebody else…”  
  
  
“And you mean to tell me you’d settle for that?” Bones growled, tossing an arm out dramatically toward Kirk for emphasis. “You’re satisfied to just have somebody else move in? Jesus Jim, that’s just about the stupidest thing I’ve heard pass through your mouth! Who’s trying to fool who here? We both know-”  
  
  
“I  _will_  move out of the way, when the time comes. I said it once, I’ll say it again, my feelings on the matter are irrelevant!”  
  
  
“Now hold on just a God damn minute!-”  
  
 “Whatever way you look at it, defend it, or swear at it I am still a flawed, impulsive, illogical human, Doctor. Whereas Spock is-”  
  
  
“ **Half**  human! And every individual who has ever gotten remotely close to him in that sense has been a human. So what are you trying to prove, Jim? Don’t give me that ‘I’m not good enough’ song and dance. It looks terrible on you, and furthermore it’s idiotic to just-”  
  
  
“There’s nothing idiotic about what Spock wants.”  
  
  
“If this was about what Spock wanted we wouldn’t be having this ridiculous hair brained conversation! When has that pointy eared bastard  **ever**  allowed himself to indulge in anything remotely resembling pleasure? And do you mean to tell me that you can’t even SEE how he feels? …Jesus, this is even worse than I thought. Next time we have one of these talks I’m bringing shots of rat poison... But be serious with me, my God man, tell me how.  **How**  could the two of you graduate from Starfleet with honours of distinction and still manage to  _not_  crack this?”  
  
  
“That’s enough, Doctor-”  
  
  
“No it  **isn’t**  enough! I haven’t even  _started_! I mean how could you even- hold on.” The flustered older man snarled, taking a considerate sip straight out of the bottle and smacking it back down again. “When you thought he’d leave Starfleet to live with Leila Kalomi, it was the first time you ever saw Spock with somebody like that. Wasn’t it Jim?”  
  
Kirk had been prepared to leap back into the debate again, but at the mention of Leila he appeared thin lipped, his gaze growing elusive.   
The memory of that still packed a punch. It was a constant, painful reminder to him that he most certainly was not the only one out there who could be captivated; who was drawn in by the striking, brilliant allure of his First.  It was also his first slap of reality, that Spock was not always just going to  **be**  there- not always just going to remain single. Someday, the space he took up close to the Vulcan could become filled, permanently, by a prospective lover. And then…  
  
  
“I don’t like to talk about that, Bones.”  
  
  
“We’re on fire with topics we don’t like to talk about tonight, so why the hell not. Lets toss it on the pile. And why don‘t you, Jim? Ever pondered on why it’s so hard for you talk about?”  
  
  
“I don’t need any of this analytical psycho babble-”  
  
  
“It’s because you know exactly what I know. You keep telling yourself you wouldn’t give a shit once he runs off with someone and is out of your hair, but it isn’t true. Once he finds somebody, that’s  _it_ , Jim. It’ll be the wrong person for him, and you’ll never forgive yourself for it. And you’ll never live it down from me! After what happened on Omicron Ceti III, you came to my quarters for a sat down and a drink. You almost believed he was going to stay down there with her…I‘ve never seen you like that before, Jim. I sure as hell don‘t want to again.”  
  
  
“ _ **Shut up**_ , Bones!-”  
  
  
“ **You**  shut up, Jim! Because not unlike tonight, it was one of the few nights I had to break  _this_  bottle out for and dammit I am not going back there again! You were messed the hell up that night, Jim. I had to give you my bed because you couldn’t walk your drunk ass back to your own quarters even with my  _help_  and do you think that’ll change once he’s gone? I’ll be sleeping on my couch for the rest of my life if I let you get away with being this fucking  **dumb**!”  
  
  
“Oh God I wish I was drunk  _right_  now… it would make the reality of having this conversation with you a lot more bearable…”  
  
Without missing  a beat, McCoy began ebbing more liquor into the glass next to Jim.  
  
“That can be arranged… well, there’s your answer. You, drunk and ready wring my neck. That’s all that’s gonna come of you letting him wander off with whoever his Vulcan ego deems worthy enough to settle down with. He won’t be happy, and neither will you, because you‘re both getting on my God damn nerves insisting on denying the obvious. You’ll kick yourself in the ass for it, and I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of my pissed off existence because I told you so! Now are you going to let this stupid idea go, so we can talk about this sensibly? Because I don’t know how useful I’ll be in a few minutes if you keep pissin’ me off and making me take shots.”   
  
  
“Alright…  **Alright**!“ Kirk yelled, taking several gulps from his tumbler and flinching. “Jesus Christ… settle down, Doctor. You’re right. You’re right, you’re right, you’re absolutely right. Is that what you wanted to hear?”  
  
  
“You’re damn right it is. Could’ve done with hearing that at the very least eight years ago, but now is fine too.”  
  
  
“Well, I’ll be good. Just stop yelling and swearing at me, and we’ll talk like adults.”  
  
  
“As good as  _you’re_  willing to get, anyway… I hate it when you make me swear at you like that, Jim.”  
  
  
“I do too, Leonard. You know you really are terrifying sometimes. But I need that.”  
  
  
“You’ve always been a weird little bastard. Now just look at yourself. We’re practically having the same conversation now as we did then. You’re petrified of losing Spock, and yet you’re doing nothing to prevent it from happening. You were rattled then, you‘re rattled now, and nothing has changed- and therein lies your problem. You might wanna start considerin’ why we’re havin’ these conversations, Jim. You’re a Captain because you get things done, now stop slacking off.”  
  
  
“And what do you suggest I do, Doctor? …I’ve seen his mind. I’ve been one person with him, but nothing. There is nothing I’ve done, nothing I can think of that  I can do to shake his Vulcan stubbornness.”   
  
  
“Then have you ever considered that appealing to his human side might be more beneficial to you than trying to win over his Vulcan half first? Start with what you’re familiar with, Jim. It’s the human in him that loves you, after all…”  
  
  
“Oh  **God**  Bones, talking to you about this is completely-”  
  
  
“Shut up! I know, it’s weird as shit, Jim, now stop reminding me of that and just listen alright? You’ve been telling me for years that Spock’s not just a wall of logic. You’ve been able to reach his human side before, and you know that he’s got _somethin_ ’ locked up in there. You’ve actually managed to get that Vulcan guard down long enough to weasel in before, however the hell God granted you the patience or ability to do that.  _Tap into it_. Appeal to the human in him, instead of trying to reason with his Vulcan half.”  
  
  
“Using what? What must I do?”  
  
  
“You’re asking  _me_? My God, Jim… who in this universe knows Spock better than you? Do what you do best. Use what you… usually use, to be persuasive.” The Doctor scrunched his nose at that, flinching, and the moment Jim read his expression he cringed as well.   
  
  
“Dammit Bones!-”  
  
  
“I KNOW, OK?! But it’s  _your_  fault we’re talking about this, and it’s certainly  _your_  fault that you usually get your own way by taking off your clothes.”  
  
  
“BONES! Fuck…”  
  
  
 “Look- what have we ever done when we face something we can’t understand? We’ve been in situations that have nearly cost us every life aboard this ship! But we’ve always come up with a solution. Now you’re faced with a situation where you stand to be rejected-”  
  
  
“Being rejected by Spock? Oh, Christ… I’d rather die…”   
  
  
“But you  **won’t**! Which in itself proves that you’ve dealt with tougher before and come through it- there’s no reason why you should doubt yourself now. Just dive in and figure it out later. Alright? Now, this has gone on well long enough. Make something happen, you idiot. I‘m sick of using all our party Brandy on these shit fits. We‘re like two lonely women in a soap opera here, it‘s pathetic.”  
  
  
He slammed down his glass.  
  
  
“And for the love of Christ almighty… do me a favour in return, and this is all I ask.”  
  
  
Jim sat waiting, eyebrows poised high.  
  
  
 “Please, whatever you two do.  Do  **not**  tell me about it the morning after, or any other that follow. No don‘t  _smile_  at me like that, this is not even an option. Don’t even look at me right now. If you tell me about it, I will do unimaginable things to you with a hypo.  _Don‘t_ , make me say it again.”  
  
  
“I will be tastefully discreet, doctor…”  Kirk said as he manoeuvred his way around the table suavely, preparing to pay the Vulcan a visit.   “and… I, cannot  _believe_ , we‘ve just had this conversation.”  
  
   
“Jesus, man… neither can I. But if Spock asks, we haven’t.”  
  
  
“Agreed. But you know he‘ll find out anyway.”  
  
  
“You know he  **will**  too, that copper blooded mind invader…”  
  
  


* * *

  
_Get. In. Spock’s. Quarters._   
_GET IN THERE NOW!_

 


	11. Ch 11: Not Alone Anymore

 

* * *

 

 

Kirk felt the tension and anxiety mounting with every sturdy looking step he took. That corridor, that door that he was so used to passing through freely now looked like an impenetrable wall.

He approached the door, extended his arm, turned and walked away.

Swore at himself.

He stormed back toward the door and jammed his thumb on the buzzer to announce his arrival. Panicked inside. Turned to walk away, grit his teeth, turned back toward the door.

Waited for the inevitable, for this was happening.  
He swallowed down grim lump after lump of rising dread.  
This was actually happening.

* * *

 

Spock was jolted from his reverie surrounded by candles as he was summoned by the buzz at his door. He unfolded himself from the sitting position on the floor as elegantly as a feline, coming to his feet in silent grace. He slid the door to his quarters open to be faced with a rigidly stern faced Kirk.  
  
“We need to talk.” He stated, no nonsense. Instantly, Spock was nervous, though his exterior revealed no evidence of such.  
  
“I have just been engaged in meditation, as is customary before a resting period. If there is a matter regarding the ship-”  
  
“Damn the ship for now.” Kirk spat quietly, face still unwavering. Spock reeled within, and attempted to maintain stability while it felt like a boulder was dropping through his innards. So this was it. He had done it. He had broken his Captain. And surely, if Kirk got in past that doorway, he’d return the favor.

 

Spock swiftly tried to back into his quarters, pressing the button to shut the door. He ripped his hand off the button as if it were white hot as Kirk  impulsively thrust himself into the space that the door was closing in on.  
  
“Jim!” Spock‘s voice began to betray a little of how bewildered he was, appalled by the recklessness.   
  
“ **Enough**.” Jim insisted, taking Spock by the wrist and lurching into the quarters. He then slapped the button, bringing the door to a whooshing close behind him. It was then that Spock caught the distinct scent of alcohol and he sighed internally.

  
_Well, the Captain has been compromised by alcohol. The Doctor has gotten to him._

 

“You have been consuming alcohol?” Spock asked, brows raising as he looked from the hand around his wrist to Kirk’s no nonsense expression. Kirk let his arm go and swept a hand back over his hair. Spock felt the hot embarrassment of Kirk burning through their tentative bond.

 

“I have had, **two** drinks. Or three. But no more!" Spock's brows remained high, and his lips tightened ever so slightly. To Jim, it was the Vulcan equivalent of haughty derision. Jim adapted a defensive look. "I mean really Spock. Just give me a _little_ credit.”

 

“If your alleged two drinks were provided to you by the hand of the Good Doctor, I fear it would be more accurately equivalent to the consumption of six point two alcoholic beverages.”

 

“I won’t debate you on that. But in my defense, I desperately needed those drinks to survive that conversation… and, this one.”

 

“A drink of courage, I presume?”

 

“As always, your knowledge of human customs is quite flawless. But I am here to talk to you about my human emotions, _and_ yours.” Spock stole back almost as if he had been smacked by an invisible hand. “Don’t get on that way." Kirk pleaded, stepping forward to clasp one of Spock's shoulders. "Don’t treat it like a dirty word. Human emotion plays a huge role in who we both are. Denial of that is illogical. I cannot, continue pretending that they don’t exist. I have to act upon my emotions or explode from bottling them up. Whether you like it or not, I am, **human** ; and I don‘t have the benefit of meditating the emotions that come with that away.” Spock ripped back from Kirk's touch, his face impassive, but his dark eyes revealing a slow boil. Kirk was sure he saw it. A touch of anger?

 

“Your human emotions almost got you killed. Yet you arrive at my quarters demanding my trust in them-”

 

“So that’s what all this is about. That fear again?”

 

“We must not speak of it-”

 

 “About me? The risk? Or have you forgotten that risk is our business?”

 

“That is too great a risk to view so frivolously, Jim.”

 

“Spock… when I die… be it tomorrow, or _years_ from now, I want to be happy when I go.” Spock froze, helpless in the face of such a blunt statement. It was frightening, how open his human Captain dared to be. “I know how to do that now. Would you deny me, or yourself? To deny ones self a desirable life in fear of what may or may not come to pass? That would be… dare I say it Mr. Spock, but highly illogical.”

 

_He must leave immediately before you cannot alter the course of this encounter. What will take place then cannot be undone._

 

“What I am doing is the most logical course of action for the both of us, Jim. Now if you would be so kind-”

 

Kirk’s next movement was, as many human reactions crested on emotion were, unpredictable.  
The only reaction Kirk got for spiralling his first officer and trapping him against the wall was the marginal widening of coffee dark eyes.  
It may as well have been the Vulcan equivalent to a jaw drop of utter bewilderment.  


  
“Jim…” The voice was impossibly deep, deliciously velvet…and pulsed with a rough undercurrent of something yet to be exposed. Jim’s own face was tight with need, fear, but above all else, stubborn determination.  


  
“No, Spock. Don’t dismiss me. Enough is enough. I have **had** it.”  


  
“Captain, I believe it is my duty to inform you that- given my personal assumptions are believed to be fact- you are submitting to delve into a situation that could jeopardize both of our professional-”  


  
“You’re rambling.” Kirk all but growled, his face now so close to Spock’s that his breath caressed hotly against the Vulcan’s lips. “Damn your Vulcan rambling and talk to me about this. _Dammit Spock_ , talk to me like a man!”  


  
“I… I cannot discuss these matters which you desire to speak of. It is my right. I am unsure of myself, furthermore it is a deeply personal-”  


  
“ **Spock**.” The word was a hiss, and the first officer met the fierce, intense gaze of the Captain’s. It was overwhelming, the swirl of emotion all-encompassing, unbearable. “This is as deeply personal for me as it is for you, but I don’t have your half-Vulcan gift of suppression to _cope_ with it. Is that fair?” Those devastatingly alive and glittering hazel eyes broke from Spock’s. That in itself showed his 1st Officer that he was utterly at a loss, that he was feeling something that Spock rarely saw in Kirk.

Uncertainty.

 

When those tumultuous gold-thistle eyes finally had the courage to return to the opposing set slightly above, Spock was damning his human half. Damning it fiercely, because now, knowing the heaviness in his Captain‘s heart, he‘d be lying if he didn‘t admit he was scared too. Scared, because he knew nothing meant more to him than his career.

  
That is, nothing with one exception.

  
 The well being of James T. Kirk.

  
The Vulcan was well aware that this could indeed be the end of his professional life on the Enterprise. That in itself fought to tear a hole, an emptiness yet to come; another beast of agony running wild inside that his Vulcan half would have to tackle and strangle into submission as it always did.

 

This was the only home he’d ever had; had ever known. Now Kirk was asking him to gamble with it; risk everything. He never had and never could deny Kirk his wants -- and if he had ever found himself doing it, it had been with extreme difficulty -- as if it went against the grain, the very nature & essence of his being;

specifically, if he had to chose between Kirk’s wants, and Kirk’s security. Spock had faced many unknowns out in the great dark expanse with this very man, and yet it was this moment that elicited the most terror within his compromised defenses.

 

“I’m losing myself. I’m _losing_ myself to this, Spock. Don’t you understand? This isn‘t just about you - it‘s my sanity too!” Hands on Spock’s shoulders now, tight, and the Vulcan could not -- would not suppress the small gasp that escaped his lips at the excitement of having Jim near him like this. No, Spock didn’t understand. Nothing made sense ever since that door had closed behind him. All he understood was his heart was pounding blood seemingly far from his mind, and Jim’s lips were so close. So close, that if he were to bend forward ever so slightly and extend the tip of his tongue…  


  
“Spock!” A firm but gentle shake once, and Spock blinked, trying hard to force his burning mind to focus. But it _burned_ , the thrill of this burned him everywhere… “I know you’re aware of this -- everything I’m not saying. I know it now, I see it in you. Damn it, Spock, I’m going out on a limb I shouldn’t -- you know _that,_ too.  Don’t you even have the balls to meet me halfway? Are you half man, or is there none of our bravery in your blood at all?! _You’re_ the one doing this to _me_ and you can‘t even acknowledge --”  


  
They were flipped roughly, and now Jim was trapped -- pressed against that wall by the most electrifying heat -- oh God, that _heat_. Nothing like that could be emulated in his mind successfully, it was beyond imagination. Startlingly, invitingly hot. None of the dreams had ever done it justice…  


  
“You are wrong, James.” These words were spat through teeth, and Jim was now close to snapping point, groaning and writhing in agony against that hard heat. It seemed to consume and embrace him. He was trapped in it, and in no way did this frighten him. Oh, he welcomed this. Indeed, wasn‘t this what brought him to Spock’s quarters in the first place, the thirst for more, that need to have everything? He suddenly felt all the urgency; pure want and the ache of the nights he would have given anything for just a little more -- needing what he couldn’t have, fearing losing what he did have. It had all pushed him to this; his emotional and erotic tendencies made it clear he’d be the first to cave.

It was natural for Kirk, reaching out and claiming what he set his eyes on.

 

Now that he’d made up his mind, his next plan of action was to earn the security and permission to claim everything of his First Officer. He was tired of finding small, short relief in shore leaves,  in others. It was as though he was a hunter, running circles and getting nowhere -- chasing small game and displaying them proudly on his wall… for what?

 

There was still the gaping, massive space -- the empty void yet to be occupied. The spot reserved for the ultimate prize, what got him out there looking in the first place… he was tired of small prides, of unfulfilling catches. He wanted that emptiness filled. He was swallowing his reservations and going after big game. He wanted to claim what he _knew_ was his. Time to reel in the big one, Kirk -- and it wasn’t going to be easy, _never_ thought it’d be easy.  The battle and the risk was what had kept him from trying this for so long. To act on what he believed -- and was proven to be -- mutual desire.

  
Pure risk.

  
If that wasn’t one way to describe James T. Kirk…

  
He knew it was scandalous.  
He also knew it was a challenge; a dangerous combo for Kirk‘s natural sensuality and aggressiveness.

 

 The hips of his favorite challenge mashed like marble against his own, sensitive hands found Kirk’s shoulders -- down his arms -- his tanned hands… they laced together, alabaster clasping gold, and suddenly Kirk’s hands were slammed above his head. Once there, the Vulcan needed only one long fingered hand to lock Kirk’s arms above his head. Spock’s slim figure was deceiving; the power in those hands was startling.

 

The slender fingers of the other hand slid through Kirk’s golden curls, down his neck, chest and side, a visible shudder quaking Kirk’s form as the hand grasped his hip… forced his hips to arch from the wall, their straining erections meeting through the fabrics.

Kirk looked up desperately into eyes black with want as Spock parted his lips, grazing Kirk‘s cheek before caressing his ear.

 

“ _You_ do this to _me_. Always.”

  

The deep rumble undid the reservations in Kirk’s mind -- he let himself go.

His mouth sought, attacked, and claimed Spock’s -- his smooth, cool tongue pushed passed the burning lips to find rough, scorching tongue.

Suddenly, the forbidden image was before him, moving against him. The impossibly unfathomable lover who lived only in the confines of his secret mind had more than escaped; he was real, touchable, _here_.  
Spock was here, with him now, wanting him.

For the first time in their lives, the both of them were insanely aware of their own yearning, and felt truly awake; alive.   


  
“ _Jim_ …” It was part reprimand, part submission. Kirk was only now coming back to his senses after they‘d been stunned by what was **actually** happening, really _happening_ this time. At once he was like a livewire, moving against Spock enthusiastically. His mouth found Spock‘s collarbone, neck, earlobe…

 

“James…” It was a quiver of a breath, a feeble failure of an attempt to find his voice as Spock‘s grip on his wrists faltered. Jim‘s mouth was an intoxicating distraction. “Understand. I… ahh! I do not, possess the power to stop this. _Please_. Things will not be the same...”

 

  
There was that fear there, Jim felt it through the bond that flared up at their contact. Fear… that this was more than Jim could offer; fear that this would tear them apart should Jim desire someone else later. Fear that this was well beyond what Spock had ever hoped would happen -- in fact, the odds were so dismal he believed that hope would be illogical.

  
Jim had the universe to choose from; achingly beautiful women, emotionally compatible humans, unattached, uncomplicated.

  
Spock was a Vulcan, his 1st Officer; second in command, best male friend, confidant.

  
_Illogical. Impossible…_

It hit Kirk then, that Spock truly did not realize his own worth, his quality; that in Jim’s eyes, this was the ultimate catch. If he would only delve a little deeper into his Captain’s thoughts, he would be slapped with the knowledge that there was nobody on the rung above Spock; he _was_ the top rung.

Now that finally, _finally_ the thing Kirk wanted most was at his disposal, he wasn’t -- and would never -- cast that aside.

What the hell could convince him to do otherwise, after years of trying to tell himself he didn‘t want Spock when he did **fiercely**?

No, oh my friends, no.

 

There would _be_ no one else after Spock. Jim knew long ago that if this improbable scenario were to happen, there wouldn’t be. That idea was so crazy to Jim, he almost laughed at how ridiculous Spock’s ideas were in his own mind. To Kirk, getting, loving and staying loyal to Spock was logical.

Come on.

You don’t trade a home cooked feast for canned goods.  


  
“Spock.” Jim broke free of Spock’s grip, and his hands found the Vulcan’s hips and held them urgently in place. He moved back against the wall, briefly breaking all contact but his grip, causing Spock to groan deep in his throat in protest. The glossy black bangs met Kirk’s shoulder, and he felt the breath unevenly gusting across his collarbone. Shaking. Clearly, his warning had been as much for himself as it was for his Captain.

 

Taking a hand from Spock’s hips to climb upward, Jim travelled his way up to the chin resting near the collar of his shirt, forcing the dark eyes to meet his own. “Do you honestly believe that I’m unaware of how things will change? That after coming in here like this, I would expect things to remain the same as they were before?” Spock was taken aback internally, by the utterly fierce and raw passion Kirk so unabashedly radiated in a look.  


  
“Spock… I, _don’t want_ them to be the same anymore. Can’t you understand that? I **don** ‘t. I want _this_. Only this. Do, you, understand?”  


  
It took him a few steadying breaths to allow the pulsing surge of joy; a crashing, dizzying euphoria at the very idea, the chance that Jim might be offering him… could not possibly, no _way_ he was offering him…  


  
“Jim… you cannot understand the severity of what you offer me. It is unlike a human joining. Human beings may become united or separated at will. Most unlike my kind. Vulcans must… we cannot…to be bonded is to --”

  

“Vulcans mate and bond for life.”  Kirk said factually, staring Spock in the eyes. “And that’s how long I will want you.” Spock felt as though his knees would buckle as he listened to the very thing he desired. It could not be real… he barely spared a moment to ponder where his Vulcan half had gone, alarmed that all he felt of it was instinct. His human half had been let out of the cage. It had forced its way out, trapping his Vulcan rationality in the prison. _I am helpless against him. It is happening. **We** are happening_…

 

“I’ve had my share of partners in the past that have come and gone. I’ve even lost some, hated to lose them.  But … I’ve almost lost _you_. In more ways than one.  Do you have any idea how terrifying that idea is? I’ve wanted people before, but not like this.” Kirk’s lips were ghosting against Spock’s neck now, making him shudder. “Never like this. I _need_ this.”  


  
“You are speaking emotionally. Are you confident in this need?”   


  
“Shouldn’t I be? Tell me you don’t feel emotional. Prove me wrong, Spock. I’ll walk out of here and leave you alone. If I‘m the only one who knows they want this --”  


  
“I do not deny that I want you. Nor do I deny the need.”

  
Kirk’s spine tingled at the electricity in those eyes, that voice, those words. Could not believe what he was seeing. Had he ever seen Spock so unbridled?

 

“You know I always thought there was something off about you, Vulcan.”  


  
“It would be wise for you to shut up, Jim.” 

 

A shout of laughter, partially a moan.

 

“Did you honestly just tell me to shut up? Ok, ok, I get it -- ‘don’t ruin it’ right -- OH! …my God, Spock…” Jim groaned as hot hands gripped his sides and slid downwards to his hips. Spock’s breath was ragged, fingers unsteady…

 

“You do not realize what you speak of. If you submit to this, you shall be mine. All mine. Always.” Spock’s dark eyes were a fraction apart from Kirk’s, intense and tumultuous. It gave Kirk goose bumps.

 

“Then look into my mind, Spock. I’m asking you in, to feel what I feel. Know what I know. I need you to understand. Please, join our minds…”

 

Spock had left his ability to contain himself far behind as his hand raised to the meld points of Jim’s fair face, completely immersing himself in the man beneath his touch. He was swept away in a rip tide of emotion, of memory; of moments seen and felt through Jim’s eyes. Spock being injured by Nomad, by the poisonous flower of Gamma Trianguli IV -- a frenzied madness of worry, of self contempt, a fever of panic.

_To lose a crew member, excruciating. To lose Spock; unforgivable. If he dies out here, I will surely die with him . . . I can’t do this without him, whatever God is listening. Come what may, come hell or high water, I refuse to live without him. I cannot see him die and walk away from it . . ._

The advances of Leila Kalomi, the first time Kirk ever faced the possibility that Spock might become romantically involved with someone . . .

 

A stark, cold emptiness like the solid, dead face of a frozen lake settled upon his insides. He felt dead already. Just the thought of her fingertips roving, claiming the skin he wanted to touch, tasting the mouth he had worshipped and longed for . . . The anger that began to heat him exploded like a wild fire ravaging the Australian outback.

_She can’t. She can’t have him. How could anyone have earned a place next to him before me? Impossible. I won’t stand by and watch it._

 

He hated her, he hated himself for not being what Spock needed -- hating himself because he knew that if Spock left, he would be a mess. A wrecked husk formerly known as James T. Kirk, trying to piece his shattered self back together in futility -- when the giant pieces of himself formed by Spock were torn from him, gone forever. He could never be Jim without Spock and he knew it.

_She could never take my place -- **can’t have him** \-- she won’t have him! Unless . . . _

 

The thing that scared him most was the thought that Spock did love her, did want her, and nothing he could say or do would change that. He would have to let it happen, let Spock go, maybe utter false words at a wedding he would rather see burned to the ground when he really wanted to throw all of himself at Spock in a desperate fit of rage.

_We’re made for each other, don’t you know that?! Don’t you know what a useless heap I’m going to be when you leave me?! Who the fuck **is** this woman, what power does she have over you that can undo these years we have belonged to each other?_

__  
Then the profound sadness of a cold, grey and empty beach on a fog-laden, somber day.  


_Spock has always been more than I’ll ever be. More alluring. More wise. More than I deserve. Nobody can claim him; half human, half Vulcan -- an entity, a creature unique to the galaxy itself. Too beautiful, too intelligent, too complex to be claimed . . ._

Spock then found himself within Jim’s mind during one of his most wrenching moments throughout his captaincy. Spock had carried out mutiny, stolen the Enterprise, and Jim was trailing behind it in a shuttle craft that had just run out of fuel with Commodore Mendez. There was no anger; only confusion, fear, worry.

_What has brought Spock to this moment that is severe enough to make him do this? What secret can he hold that I can’t know? Why would he think that he can’t confide it in me? I’m scared for him. He must be protecting me from something -- something that could hurt us both. What is it?_ He tapped the oxygen gauge of the shuttle craft and sighed.

 

“Two hours of oxygen left.”

 

“Wonderful.” The Commodore said sarcastically.

 

“Part of me is hoping that the Enterprise won’t come back for us.” Spock felt his own consciousness jolt in surprise by that statement, trying to comprehend why Kirk would hope such a thing -- but he swiftly became overwhelmed by the thoughts swarming Kirk‘s memory:

 

_How could this happen. My God, if he comes back for me, he will have to leave the fleet, my ship, my life. I don’t know if I can bear to face it. I don’t know if I can keep it together. After all that he‘s done in the past 24 hours, and I don’t think **I** can do this to **him**. I would rather it end here than live out what’s coming at me next. Letting him go. . . _

 

“We step on that deck, Spock is finished. Court Martialed, disgraced.”

 

Spock was bewildered by the Captain’s words, his thoughts during that moment. He found himself incredibly moved by the level of loyalty, of fondness. He could not fathom how he deserved such formidable displays of affection from this beautiful man beneath his fingertips. Then . . .

Pon Farr.

  
Jim’s torrent of cascading thoughts that derived from Spock’s bout of Pon Farr made the Vulcan feel nauseated by their power, their speed. More than any other frenzied thought Jim had in that time of jealousy, of agony, of passion, the one that impacted Spock the most was when Jim was rationalizing saving his life by taking the Enterprise to Vulcan.

  
_I will lose my command if I disobey this order. All my years of Starfleet can be undone in this one decision. I will lose everything I have built for myself if I disobey. But I will lose Spock if I don’t. He will be dead, and I will want to join him._

_. . ._

_Well . . . I had a great captaincy. A job is a job. You can only have one great love of your life._

There was not even a debate. Kirk immediately resigned himself to abandoning his entire career to save Spock, and it was as simple for him as that.

  
_If Spock dies, I will spend the rest of my days as Captain resenting this job for taking him from me._

_  
_And later, as Kirk lay in the desert sands of Vulcan in the sweltering heat, felt the tight constriction of the Ahn’woon around his throat ebbing the life out of him by Spock’s mighty strength, he felt a strange sense of euphoria, of relief as he lost consciousness . . .

  
_My beautiful friend, my love, do with me what you will. I am yours. I would give up my last breath if it breathed life into you._

 

Moments upon moments; playful eyes silently admiring on the bridge, over the chess board . . . Hands that thrilled when they rested upon that familiar blue tunic . . . Fear that rippled every nerve beneath bronzed skin in quick moments of peril; fear of never seeing dark, secretive eyes again . . . A love that tumbled forth without provocation, in silence, brimming Kirk until it spilled out through his eyes, his smiles, his touches in every shared ride in the turbo lift, every quiet game of chess, every brief meeting of eyes aboard the bridge.

 

_My beautiful friend, my love, do with me what you will. I am yours._

* * *

 

 

Spock opened his eyes and let his hand fall back from the golden face, a jolt of a feeling at the awareness. Spock felt exhausted, reliving the excitement of their lives through the perspective of his Captain. He was filled to the brim with the yearning thoughts, desires, worries -- most of all, the astounding admiration and passion that Jim bore for him. He was shell-shocked by the intensity; he was still in another place. His breath pulled out of him raggedly, overwhelmed by the experience as he caught a brief glance into those eyes so near his own.

 

Yet they were so intensely green, vibrant.

They closed.

Spock’s hands cupped either side of Jim’s face, unaware that they were trembling.

 

“Jim.” The deep voice caused Kirk to press his lips together, attempting to prevent them from quivering. “Look at me.” He moved his hands down lower, thumbs stroking along the sides of Kirk’s throat.

 

“I c-- I . . .” Kirk’s voice was feeble, breathy. “I can’t. You know everything now. All the vulnerable thoughts I have had. . . The way I think about you.” He swallowed hard, and Spock was entranced by the gleaming, wet trail that etched a shining line down Jim’s cheek, clinging to his flawless jaw. “You’ve read my petty, chaotic human mind like a book. Don’t you understand how terrifying that is?”

 

“Jim.”

 

Kirk’s eyes pinched together hard, squeezing a fresh glimmering trail down either side of his face. He swallowed air like a drowning man, attempting to still his own emotionalism.

 

“I’m sorry . . .”

 

“Look at me, Jim.”

 

With great inner strength, Kirk managed to swallow down his embarrassment and look into the coffee dark eyes. There he was. The sole individual in that spanning sea of stars that was everything; the beginning and end to all he found himself wanting in the years he had lived out in the dark deep unknown. He was taken off guard by the burning emotion he found kindled in that umber gaze, bare and open. He had never seen the Vulcan’s eyes so unguarded and naked.

 

“Jim,” he breathed. “You are mine . . . and I will do with you what I will.” he rasped, and Jim’s eyes widened as Spock encompassed him, his hot mouth grasping Kirk’s in a fiery caress. Spock’s arms were engulfing him, cradling him against the hard chest only separated by thin blue tunic, black undershirt. The heat of his body was incredible. Jim opened up to him entirely, melting into that grasp and urgent tongue, dueling mercilessly.

 

_Mine. **You are mine**. I have needed this, and I have no control to bring this to a halt . . . _

_“_ Don’t stop . . .” Jim gasped as Spock’s hot mouth burned a trail from his earlobe to his collarbone; strong, dexterous fingers grasped at his golden tunic, began tearing it up over his head along with the black undershirt in an urgent sweep. Spock’s fingers now dug into the taut muscles of Jim’s back, his scorching lips and nipping teeth devouring the delightful brown flesh of his chest . . .

 

“More . . .” Jim demanded as he wrestled with Spock’s blue tunic, tearing it up over his head. He had barely gotten Spock’s black undershirt up over those pointed ears before the Vulcan crushed himself against his captain, his hot, pale torso warming Kirk’s golden chest. A flurry of movement; of hair in fingers, of mouths exploring flushed expanses of flesh when suddenly the Vulcan was on his knees, clasping the front of Kirk’s pants with his teeth and yanking before his nimble fingers made quick work of the fly.

 

“Jesus Christ . . .” Kirk breathed, and Spock paused teasingly, inches from Kirk’s erection straining against his underwear so he could mildly smirk up at his flustered Captain.

 

“I never knew you to be a religious man, Jim.” His deep voice rumbled with amusement, and Kirk's brow furrowed indignantly.

 

"How **dare** you get a sense of humor right now."

 

 He leered down at the Vulcan before tackling him to the floor of his quarters, wresting with the button on Spock’s fly. He tore the black pants down, and Jim barked out a laugh of both frustration and humor as he began tearing Spock’s long boots from his legs before working on his own. “Goddamn knee high boots, who the fuck in their right mind--”

 

Spock pushed Jim back on the floor, devouring the words left on Kirk’s tongue. He grasped Jim’s wrists and pinned them over his head as he ground his hips fiercely against those of the Captain.

 

“If you are mine, I will claim you.” Spock growled, and Jim was awed by this animistic side of his typically cool, stoic first officer. Spock’s body was flushed jade, his sleek hair tousled, his lips swollen, his eyes dark and full of fire. Spock used one hot hand to caress Jim’s chin possessively. “Tell me you are mine. Tell me you are only mine.”

 

“I am yours. **Only** yours.” Kirk’s whisper was quivering, his breath coming and going in hot spurts. “Always.”

 

The dark eyes were smoldering, saturated in love and heat.

 

“Only mine.” Spock repeated, relishing the words as his hand left Jim’s chin and dipped into his underwear, gripping the eager cock in his firm, scorching grasp. He began pumping it furtively, delighting in the way Kirk’s body arched up off the floor, how he cried out helplessly, at the mercy of Spock’s aggressive ministrations.

 

Jim watched as the raven-capped head began to sink low, his groin positively electric with the sensation of Spock’s strong, jerking grasp. He had never in his life been touched like this before, so assertively, with such strength and confidence. He was terrified he would explode in Spock’s hand before they even had a chance to take this further.

 

“Spock, please, wait, I’m -- Ohhh, oh Christ . . .” He practically wept, seeing white as fiery bliss encompassed his mind; a tidal wave of pleasure as Spock’s scalding mouth encompassed the head of his cock before engulfing it entirely. He sucked Kirk **hard** , with an eagerness that no previous lover of Kirk’s had ever expressed. Spock’s strong hands gripped Kirk’s waist so hard that Jim thought in an ecstatic haze that there will be bruises . . . _I want there to be bruises, so I know this is real_. . .

 

Within their minds, now entwined together in the torridity of their physical ministrations, Spock was beholden to Kirk’s vigorous pleasure, the blinding luminance of his inner being as he surrendered his body to Spock, the cresting intensity of his approaching orgasm . . .

 

Spock tore his mouth away from Kirk’s cock, eliciting a moan-cry of anguish from the man beneath him. Kirk glared up at him indignantly, and Spock met the glare with a hot, level gaze.

 

“Turn over.” Spock ordered, and Jim’s eyes widened, drinking in this sexual creature that used to be his first officer. “I shall not ask you again.” That growling whisper sent heat burning from the back of Kirk’s neck to the base of his spine. Those dark eyes were mad with lust, with possession, and above all else, the purest love. He felt both startled and turned on by the Vulcan’s dominance. A hot hand fondled his left hip and he let himself be flipped, stomach pressed to the floor, pinning his aching erection.

 

He heard Spock moving somewhere behind him, open something, and a sweet, spicy scent poured into his nostrils as Spock lathered the fingers of his right hand in oil. Kirk felt the gentle touch of a sole fingertip against his most sensitive area. Spock all over his body, inside his mind . . .

 

_Relax_.

 

He let every muscle in his body unwind, yielding himself and permitting that one finger entry. There was pain, a touch so hot and delicate inside himself. The finger curled, and a tailspin of pleasure ricocheted from that fingertip throughout his loins, his cock. Spock’s breathing became uneven, and Kirk could see, could feel his arousal in their shared mind; could feel the alien, erotic sensations coursing through Spock’s sensitive fingertip. He was amazed at how much pleasure a Vulcan could feel through contact with their fingertips.

 

Spock moved it slowly in and out, curling to elicit whimpers and groans from the golden man before him. Another finger, then another, and the motion sped until Kirk began arching against his hand, riding the movements with eagerness. He took in a harsh breath of protest when Spock removed his hand entirely.

 

“Please . . .” Kirk moaned, his body flushed, his essence afire in their minds, and he only had to wait breathlessly for a few heartbeats before he felt the rigid, hot cock at his entrance. Spock was pinning Kirk’s arms up over his head with one hand again, holding himself up with the other arm, bracing.

 

“I cannot tell you . . .” the slightest tremor in that night deep voice . . . “how long I have watched, have wanted this . . .”

 

He pressed himself in slow, giving Kirk ample time to adjust, ghosting kisses of comfort against the back of the strong, bronze neck below. Gently, very gently, he rocked his hips in a tantalizing dance, careful to pay heed to the thoughts flitting through Kirk’s mind -- _take me, take all of me, all yours_ \-- his pains, his pleasures, his pleas as he filled Kirk with the tip to the base of his cock disappearing entirely. . .

 

“Th'y'la  . . ." Spock breathed, and Kirk arched hard beneath him, his mind crying out for more, **more** of Spock, insatiable need . . .

 

" **My** Th'y'la" Spock hissed, and with that sound tingling in Kirk's ears, Spock entered him forcefully. Again he entered, again; control degrading into rapid, jutting spurts of movement from slim hips so pale, so powerful. The sound of slapping contact, the grip of Spock's hand that released Kirk's wrists to grasp his hip hard, slick with sweat, hammering home the months, the years of want, jealousy, hurt, desire, unrequited love . . .

 

He was held captive underneath that heat, the sensations of his body being fucked unlike any other being had done, his mind filled with hungry thoughts, beautiful and intoxicating; that pure, crystalline tendril extending from the luminescent inner essence of Spock, and a diamond-pure skein of his own essence tentatively reached out, curled and twined to meet Spock's as they began to merge.

 

Both hot hands dug white crescents into Jim's waist, gripping as toned hips snapped rhythmically. Spock was fucking his Captain into the floor with a recklessness that he had no power to control, could only focus on the little sounds and gasps of pleasure slipping from Kirk's lips, that addictive sensation of his cock pulling back then pounding into that cool, tight body over and over.

 

Kirk forced himself to his elbows and knees, rocking back and forth to meet each one of Spock's thrusts until he felt the roiling sensations shared between them building, impossibly climbing as Spock ravaged him; that crystalline essence dueled and melded as madly as their physical love making. A pair of strong, scalding arms came about Kirk's torso, gripping him tight as the Vulcan's breath came hot and ragged in his ear, broken by hissing intakes, soft sobs and gasps . . .

Fierce alabaster hips ripped back and slammed forth, driving that hard heat into Kirk once, twice, a groan as dark and beautiful as midnight spilled forth as Spock gripped his arms tight about Kirk's chest, pulling him up into a kneeling position as he arched hard inside, reaching around to grip Kirk's cock in a hard, jerking grasp. Spock convulsed, tossing his head back breathlessly, and Jim felt an unbelievable heat fill him. His own was splashing over Spock's tight grip, still working his weeping erection, the Vulcan still pumping softly in and out as their breathing stuttered and shook in the aftermath.

 

They kneeled there for a moment in suspended existence, quivering limbs, taken over by the strength of the light and thoughts consuming their shared minds. Kirk had let himself fall limp back in Spock's arms, chest heaving, eyes closed as he left himself to the mercy of the one who had just claimed him entirely.

 

It wasn't until moments later, his ears still ringing, body still thrumming, pulse still racing under his skin that he truly came to notice the foreign sensation; each minute whisper of afterthought that ran through the Vulcan's mind, the soft, loving answers to his own personal inner thoughts.

 

Jim finally realized the depth of the situation they were now in. He could not control the immense relief, the burn he felt in his eyes as his hands rested over the hot arms encircling him, and he turned his face to press a kiss against the sweltering nape of his lover. His voice was thick with emotion as the truth set in, the sensation that Spock was there with him, with his thoughts, hearing him from inside.

 

"I am not alone anymore."

 

Spock's mouth sent delicious tingles down Kirk's neck as he grazed the captain's ear with a heated whisper:

 

"Nor shall you ever be again."

 

* * *

 

 

O_O . . .

Excuse me. I’mma just – I’mma just walk out of here now and get my ass a cold shower.

 

… miiiight fap until I die.


End file.
